Monkey in the Middle
by callensensei
Summary: An old enemy returns to the island with designs on the Professor.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Sherwood Schwartz is the true evil genius behind Gilligan's Island and its enduring story of friendship.**

**Many thanks to Littlesoprano for betareading! As Wilbur thought in **_**Charlotte's Web**_**, "It is not often that one finds someone who is a good friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."**

**Monkey in the Middle **

Ginger looked out of the window, marvelling at the splendour that spread above their tiny camp. The late afternoon sky glowed a pale, creamy yellow, its light falling on the jungle and the distant mountains like a soft blanket. "It's going to be a lovely evening for a stroll on the beach. That sky is gorgeous."

The Professor, intent at his worktable, didn't look up. "Yes, the refraction of the sunlight at this latitude does produce a remarkable spectrum effect."

Ginger hardly knew whether to smile or sigh. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"Mmm? Oh!" Now he did look up, and saw where the actress stood at the window, the light slanting across her high cheekbones and fiery red hair. He broke into a self-conscious smile. "There'll be other lovely evenings, Ginger. That is, unless you've spotted a ship out there!"

She turned, returning his smile at last. "Sorry, Professor. No ship. I guess I was daydreaming a little." Gracefully she crossed the room to where a rack of test tubes sat on the laboratory table by the Professor's bamboo chemical apparatus. "I've got to admit I'm a little bit nervous, though; I've never been left in charge of an experiment before. I hope you don't come back tomorrow and find out I've ruined it." She carried over the rack and a little notebook to his worktable. "Gee – my high school science teacher never would have trusted me with this. He said I'd probably never pass the first unit test."

The Professor poured over her notes for a moment, then lifted the one of the test tubes to eye level. "Your science teacher was a very poor judge of aptitude, Ginger. Your observations are precise and detailed, and as for your measurements—"

Ginger flashed an impish grin. "Thirty-six, twenty-two, thirty-six?"

The Professor blinked a moment before nearly spilling the test tube in embarrassment. "Uh...well...I-I simply meant that the accuracy with which you've measured my formula is highly impressive. And despite the narrow circumference of these tubes, you didn't spill a single drop! Ginger, you have the hands of a surgeon."

The actress laughed in surprise and delight. "Professor! That's one of the nicest compliments any man's ever given me!"

"Really?" His playful tone delighted her even more. "I thought a great many men would have given you compliments."

"They have, Professor. But not many ever said I've got a great mind."

"Don't feel bad, Ginger," came a voice from the doorway. "Not many men ever say it to me, either!"

They looked up at the slim, red-shirted figure in the doorframe. "Gilligan!" said the Professor. "Come in! I was just about to go looking for you. Are you and the Skipper ready?"

The first mate nodded, slinging his duffle bag off his shoulder as he came in. A machete swung from his belt and a canteen was slung 'round his neck. "Kinda. I am, anyway."

"Oh? What's keeping the Skipper?"

"He's still giving Mr. Howell his last-minute orders and Mr. Howell's none too happy. He's making like we're leaving him to guard the Alamo, and the Mexicans are cooking their tamales right over the hill! But we'll be back by suppertime tomorrow, won't we?"

"Of course we will. But I would like to get going while it's still light."

"I'm ready when you are." Gilligan patted his duffle bag. "Thanks for sewing this new bag for me by the way, Ginger. It's real sturdy!"

Ginger looked down at the S.S. Minnow stamp on her white sundress and smiled. "You're welcome, Gilligan. It was the least I could do after I took your old one to make this dress."

"You sure did a nice job. Boy, I'll bet you could make a wedding dress out of a sail!"

"Oh, maybe someday." She sighed - just a little. "It's going to seem like a long night for the four of us without you men. And to think of the three of you climbing up that tall mountain! Are you sure it's safe?"

The Professor checked the other test tubes, swirling their liquid in the mellow light. "We're only hiking up the lower slopes, Ginger, not climbing. No picks or pitons or anything of that sort. We'll be fine, I assure you. Gilligan, you're sure you've got the rest of the equipment?"

"Yup. The shovels are right outside, and the burlap bags."

"Good. Did you get the fresh water?"

"Uh-huh. Two big gourds full – but are we really gonna need it? The mountains are the wettest place on the island!"

The Professor nodded sagely. "For which we can be very thankful, Gilligan. That near-constant rainfall at the summits is what feeds our underground springs with fresh water. It's a vital part of the island's ecosystem, and its unique sub-climate makes it the perfect habitat for the fungi I'll be harvesting."

Gilligan frowned. "I thought you were looking for mushrooms."

Favouring Gilligan with a patient smile, the scientist replaced the last test tube in the rack. "Gilligan, mushrooms are fungi. Fungi is their Latin name."

"Oh yeah. Sorry, Professor." Gilligan perched on a stool by the Professor's table. "Must be great to speak something besides just English. I wish I could."

"Sometimes I believe you can."

"Huh?"

The Professor swung 'round on his stool to face the young sailor. "I'm completely serious. In fact, some time I'd like to take you with me when I'm out studying the fauna – the animals, I mean – here on the island. You could be of immense assistance to me."

Gilligan sat up, flushed with pride. "Sure, Professor. Any time. What do you want me to do?"

"You see this little metal disk?" With a pair of tweezers the Professor held up a tiny black circle the size of a button with even tinier hooks on each side.

"What is it?"

"It's a miniature transmitter. I intend to attach these to various animal species in order to study their migratory habits. Then I'll track them by means of this homing device." He showed Gilligan a disk of metal with a glass dome and vibrating needle on top.

"Looks like a yo-yo with a compass in the middle," said Gilligan. "Can you spin it?"

Ginger laughed. "Gee, Gilligan, I thought it looked more like a compact. The Professor let me help him put it together; you wouldn't believe how tiny all the little parts are."

"And because the transmitters are so tiny, they won't bother the animals," added the Professor. "I doubt the animals will even be aware of their presence."

Gilligan raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Sounds great, Professor. But where do I come in?"

"Well, many of the species on this island are too shy and secretive for human contact. But you never seem to have any trouble getting them to trust you." The Professor shook his head in wonder. "I wish you could teach me your secret."

"Me teach you something, Professor? Wow!" Gilligan was wide-eyed at the honour. "Gosh... I wish _I_ knew my secret. I dunno; it just happens. Always has, as long as I can remember. But I'd be glad to help you."

"I'll be in your debt."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Anybody order some breakfast to go?"

The Professor looked up. "Come in, Mary Ann. My, that smells wonderful!"

Mary Ann came in, her long black hair swept up as she always wore it when baking. Under her arm was a large bundle wrapped in a burlap sack.

"Oh, my gosh! Mary Ann, that can't be what my nose thinks it is, can it?" Gilligan nearly toppled off his stool as he sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

"That it is! Fresh baked bread from our first wheat crop." Mary Ann's brown eyes shone as she caressed the bundle. "Professor, that wild wheat you found makes the best flour I've ever worked with. And that new brick oven you built is amazing! It's like my mother's cast-iron range back home! I don't know how to thank you."

The Professor laughed. "Well, don't thank me alone, Mary Ann. The Skipper and Gilligan built it; I only designed it. By the way, Gilligan, how's the Skipper's foot doing? I know the bruise is nearly gone and he says it doesn't hurt anymore, but I hope he's not just being stoic."

"No, he's fine, Professor. He chased me halfway 'round the lagoon this morning when I caught his back beltloop with my fishhook."

"Good." The Professor wagged a finger at the first mate. "And I hope this will be a lesson to you not to try to take a sharp running turn while pushing a wheelbarrow full of bricks!"

"He's right, Gilligan!" said Mary Ann. "If the Skipper hadn't caught the wheelbarrow and pulled it the other way, you might have been buried!"

"I think the Skipper was gonna bury me anyway," said Gilligan with a nervous swallow. "Luckily he couldn't chase me. Anyway, don't remind him, huh?"

Now Ginger, the Professor and Mary Ann all laughed. "All right, Gilligan," said the Professor. "And as for thanks, Mary Ann, we'll be thanked with every delicious bite we take." He took a long, appreciative whiff. "Mmm! I hope there's enough there for our supper tonight as well. I don't think the three of us will be able to wait until tomorrow morning!"

A voice broke in upon their happy sniffing. "Captain, this is desertion! Dereliction of duty! Did Custer abandon the settlers to the Indians? Did Shackleton abandon his men to the Eskimos?"

"Shackleton was at the South Pole, Howell! There are no Eskimos there!"

"Well, to the bloodthirsty penguins, then! A true leader doesn't abandon his charges!"

A large shadow darkened the doorway, and moments later the Skipper sailed in with the Howells in his wake. "Professor, will you tell Mr. Howell that he and the women aren't going to be massacred by savages while we're away?" Suddenly he blinked and his nose shot up like a seal's at a fresh fish. "Oh, boy! Am I dreaming? Fresh bread!"

"Sure is, Skipper," said Mary Ann. "Baked in my very own ov—" she stopped at the sight of Gilligan's pleading eyes. "...my very own recipe! You're taking it with you!"

"Wow! That's wonderful!"

Gilligan's look of pure gratitude warmed Mary Ann even more than the fresh loaves under her arm.

Meanwhile, Mr. Howell gave a most disgruntled snort. "Well, I do hope the cannibals are in the mood for crumpets and tea! It may distract them from the main course while the ladies and I make our getaway!"

"Tea? Oh, Thurston, that won't do at all." Mrs. Howell fidgeted with her parasol at the thought. "I hardly have enough jams and preserves left for the seven of us. If the cannibals come, I'll have to rearrange my whole menu!"

"My dear, if the cannibals come, we _shall_ be the menu!"

The Professor laughed. "You can relax, Mr. and Mrs. Howell. The savage mind knows by instinct that it's safer to travel by high tide. Besides, this is the equatorial winter. Most of the time the winds make the waves far too choppy for the outriggers to navigate, so unless the savages have started using outboard motors, I'd say they'll be staying home for awhile yet."

"Oh," said Mr. Howell, looking somewhat mollified.

The Skipper pushed back his captain's cap and laughed. "Professor, I've got to hand it to you. You make it mighty easy for me to be Skipper around here."

"Glad to oblige, Skipper."

"Professor, you will hurry back, won't you?" urged Mrs. Howell. "You promised to begin your lecture series on Shakespeare for my Tuesday salons, and I've already made up the invitations."

"You're starting a salon, Mrs. Howell?" Gilligan's eyebrows rose. "Are we going to be able to hear the Professor over the hairdryers?"

"A salon is a sort of a gathering, dear boy," Mrs. Howell explained. "Where people drink and chat, and things of that sort."

"Oh," said Gilligan. "Kind of like Barnacle Bill's Bar back in Honolulu, huh, Skipper? Except I don't remember anybody giving lectures on Shakespeare there."

"I'll hurry back, Mrs. Howell. I promise," said the Professor.

"And you were going to show me the design for your coconut weather-detectors, old man," said Mr. Howell. "Sounded simply marvellous. I want to get in on the ground floor, you know."

Gilligan frowned, looking up at the ceiling. "But Mr. Howell, the Professor only has one—"

"Just a figure of speech, my boy." Mr. Howell smiled. "Means I'll make a million."

The Professor nodded. "Ginger's already been helping me prepare the glycerol formula, Mr. Howell. It should be ready in a few days." He stood up. "Well, Skipper, are we ready to get underway? Have you got everything?"

"Torches, rope, protective charms. I think so."

"Protective charms?" The Professor rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh, Skipper! How long are you going to keep clinging to-"

"I know what you're going to say, Professor," said the Skipper quickly, holding up a silencing hand. "'Those silly superstitions!' But I say it's best not to take chances. After all, this isn't just any mountain ."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Gilligan fixed them both with a suspicious glare . "You guys just told me we were going to the mountains. You never said which one exactly."

The Professor glanced up at the Skipper. "He'll find out sooner or later, Skipper."

The Skipper twiddled his fingers evasively. "Ep...little buddy, I was going to tell you...once we got a little closer to it, that is."

The first mate was perched bolt upright now. "What? What's the big idea?" His eyes flew wide as he saw the answer in the Skipper's eyes. "Oh, no. Not that one!"

The Professor cut in before the Skipper could. "Yes, Gilligan. The one whose name, according to the native carvings, is the Whispering Mountain."

On came the fireworks.

"The Whispering Mountain?" Gilligan howled. "Skipper! What gives?"

"Little buddy, I didn't want to worry you."

"Didn't want to worry me? Thanks a lot!" Gilligan was clutching the seat of his stool as though he might shoot through the ceiling if he let go. "It's only the spookiest place on the island!"

"Spooky?" gasped Mary Ann. "What do you mean? What's up there?"

"Not what," murmured Gilligan in a sepulchral voice, looking up into the shadows. "_Who_."

"There's nobody up there, Mary Ann," said the Professor reassuringly. "There are signs that it was once home to an ancient tribe, but those people are long gone now."

"Yeah," Gilligan whispered, still looking around. "There should be one big sign up there now. 'No trespassing!'"

"Professor, is it dangerous?" gasped Ginger.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Howell. "I do hope you're all insured."

"From the sound of things, I don't believe I'd take them on as a risk," said Mr. Howell.

"Gilligan!" The Skipper lifted his hat for emphasis, and Gilligan shrank back. "Pipe down! You're scaring the troops!"

"You didn't do me much good either!"

The Skipper settled his cap back down, blustering. "Well... you don't have to worry, little buddy. We're only going a little ways up, and these charms of mine will make sure we're all safe."

"Common sense will make sure we're all safe," said the Professor with a wry smile as he retrieved a canvas bag from his bed and slung it around his neck.

The first mate didn't look at all convinced, but nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Professor. Just as long as we all come back that way."

The Skipper noticed the canvas bag. "What have you got in there, Professor? Doesn't look big enough to carry many mushrooms."

"Oh...uh...just a few extra utensils," said the Professor, turning away quickly as he picked up his duffle bag. "In case we have need of them. After all, it's a long walk back." The Professor bowed slightly and gestured to the door. "Well, Skipper? Shall you do the honours?"

The Skipper nodded and pushed the wooden door open. "Fall out, men!"

The castaways left the hut and gathered in the centre of the camp, where the setting sun was sinking now behind the mountains. There were murmurs, handshakes, hugs and pats on the back all 'round as the castaways all tried to look a little happier than they felt. Mr. Howell shook the Skipper's hand. "Well, keep an eye on these two, Captain. I'd be hard pressed to get along without my golf caddy or my best chess partner!"

"Will do, Mr. Howell!"

A moment later the Skipper thought an island goddess had materialized in his arms as Ginger gave him a fond kiss. "Hurry back, Skipper," she murmured, lowering her long black lashes. "You know how safe a girl feels with a big, strong man around."

The Skipper blushed to the roots of his hair and pushed back his cap as if to release the heat. "You bet I will, Ginger!"

Mrs. Howell laid a gentle hand against Gilligan's cheek. "That mountain's so dreadfully cold. You'll be warm enough, won't you, dear?"

"Sure, Mrs. Howell. I've got my blanket."

"But that's hardly sufficient! Are you sure you don't want my mink?"

Gilligan tried hard to keep a straight face. "Aw, thanks, Mrs. Howell. I don't think it's really my style, though. Besides, one of the mountain gorillas might try to get fresh with me!"

Mrs. Howell gasped, raising a gloved hand to her mouth. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that! You're right, Gilligan. Would you rather have my leopard stole? It has a lovely matching handbag."

Gilligan bit his tongue like a hero. "I'll be fine, Mrs. Howell. Honest."

At last Mary Ann came to his rescue as she tied the ends of the burlap bag into a sling and slid it over Gilligan's head and arm like a backpack. "Here's the bread, Gilligan. Promise me you won't eat it all before you even get there!"

"I promise, Mary Ann. The Skipper'd keel haul me!"

The farm girl smiled briefly, but her expression grew serious as she looked up at Gilligan, her small brown hand resting on his chest. "I'm glad the Skipper's going with you, Gilligan; he'd never let anything happen to you. You be careful." She reached up and kissed him briefly on the lips, squeezing his arm as if she didn't mean to let him go. After a moment she drew back. "You're not scared," she said in gentle surprise.

He shrugged shyly. "I'm a lot scared. But the Professor says these mushrooms are real important, so... I'll see it through."

"I know you will." She squeezed his arm one last time. "Come back soon."

The last to say goodbye to the Professor was Ginger; as she approached him he began to enumerate instructions on his fingers. "Now Ginger, uh, don't subject the formula to any unnecessary agitation; it'll upset the chemical balance."

"I know, Professor." She moved a little closer to him.

"And keep it out of direct sunlight as much as possible."

"I'll remember."

His fingers began to shake just a little. "And be sure to check the ph factor every—"

Gently she pushed his hands apart with a spray of creamy plumeria flowers that she'd picked up from the table. "You can depend on me, Professor."

There was nothing between them but the flowers now, and their heady scent mingled with Ginger's perfume. "Oh...oh...yes, of course."

The beautiful starlet leaned forward and kissed him, driving every scientific equation from the Professor's head. "And I can depend on you, can't I?" she whispered afterwards.

It took the Professor a moment to remember basic vocabulary. "Wh-why - for what?"

"To come back. I need you." For a moment Ginger lowered her eyes, fingering the flower's fragile petals. "I mean...we all do. We'd be lost without you." She looked back up as she tucked a flower into his breast pocket. "Promise me, Professor?"

He patted his pocket and smiled. "Scout's honour."

The women and Mr. Howell stepped back as the Skipper, Gilligan and the Professor gathered up the rest of their gear. At last the three men turned and started off down the jungle trail, waving as they went. "Take care! We'll see you soon!"

"Goodbye!"

After the men disappeared, the four remaining castaways stood for awhile as the soft evening breezes stirred the palm fronds and the dark clouds began to gather in the east. One by one the birds fell silent; only the far off roar of the wide, dark ocean made any sound.

"Awfully quiet, isn't it?" murmured Mary Ann.

"I'm so glad you're here with us, Thurston," said Mrs. Howell, taking her husband's arm. "Do you think it's true, what the Professor said, about the cannibals?"

"Of course, Lovey." Mr. Howell cupped a hand to his ear. "I say – is that an outboard motor I hear?"

"Mr. Howell!" cried Mary Ann. "One more comment like that and there'll be no fresh bread for you tomorrow!"

Mrs. Howell tapped him with her parasol. "Oh, Thurston! Shame on you!"

The millionaire had the grace to blush. "Forgive me, darling. Only joshing. Well, ladies, I for one don't care for being idle while the other men are off on their noble venture. Why don't we retire to our hut and have some convivial music on the radio, and then you can all try to beat me at gin-rummy: winner take all!"

The women nodded gratefully. As they moved towards the Howell hut, Ginger looked back towards the jungle, hugging herself as if cold. "The Whispering Mountain," she murmured. "What did Gilligan mean, 'no trespassing'? Are they walking into some kind of danger?"

The others paused for a moment. "The Professor says there's no danger," said Mary Ann.

"And the Professor is always right, Ginger, my dear," said Mr. Howell. "He'll tell you so tomorrow night."

Ginger gave a longing sigh as she looked up to where the line of the mountains brooded in the darkening distance. "Oh, I hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

If Mr. Howell had been an hour's trek north of the castaways' camp, he would indeed have heard an outboard motor. On the west side of the island, the mandarin-orange sunset gilded the glowing mountains and glittered on the waves of a little cove. Silhouetted against the fiery sky, a small motorboat shot through the water. In the bow, a black- hatted figure drew his black cape more closely about him. "Hurry, Igor! We cannot risk being seen!"

A small monkey dressed in a black sweater and trousers nodded and deftly pulled the rudder, guiding the little craft towards shore. The third passenger in the boat, a tall, hulking man dressed exactly like the monkey, sat hunched over with a glazed expression, nibbling at a banana. Every so often he gave his arms and back a vigorous scratch.

Slowly the little craft nosed into the beach, and the man in the black cape sprang out as lightly as a cat into the damp sand. "Cut the motor, Igor!"

The monkey flipped the ignition switch off and climbed out of the boat to crouch pensively by his master. This left only the tall man still aboard, gumming the last of his banana in perfect contentment.

The man on shore glared at the man in the boat. "You fool! Why do you sit there? We have much work to do!"

The tall man looked up and gleefully flung the banana skin at the man on shore. When it whacked into the black cape and slowly slid off, the tall man gibbered excitedly while the little monkey smiled.

Peering out from under his cape, the man on shore rolled his eyes. "Never did I see an ape with such delight in throwing things! It will get you into trouble someday, mark my words! If it were not for your great strength I would have left you at home!"

The tall man hunched over, scratching, while the monkey tugged at his master's trouser leg. His master looked down, and a sneer twisted his bearded features. "No, Igor. I will not change you back so easily. If it were not for your stupidity, I, Boris Balinkoff, would have been ruler of the world! You will stay as you are until my work here is successfully concluded."

The monkey glowered. Meanwhile, Balinkoff pulled a biscuit from his pocket and turned to the man in the boat. "Come, then. Conceal the boat, and you shall have a treat!"

The tall man chattered in excitement. Clambering out of the boat, he seized the gunwhales and dragged the craft off towards the undergrowth in a hunched, lurching gait. Moments later he came scuttling back swiftly but awkwardly on all fours. Balinkoff sighed and looked to heaven. "Thank goodness I have not need of grace or intelligence! Come, both of you! To the cave! We will see if my equipment is still intact."

The unlikely threesome started off into the jungle as the first shadows began to fall.

Several hours later they were still wandering the jungle, the monkey wobbling upright on his short hind legs while the tall man crept along through the undergrowth. Balinkoff, looking up from the cigarette case-sized metal device in his hand, shone his flashlight about the thick, dark, rustling jungle. "We should have found it by now! Where can that cave be hiding?" He shook the device in frustration. "Bah! Years of my brilliance it took to perfect this processing unit, and five seconds of Gilligan's stupidity to ruin it with one well-aimed coconut! Still, the signal remains strong. We must be getting close! Come!" He stalked eagerly along as the monkey and the man followed him, until at last the little monkey toddled on ahead.

"Igor, where are you going? Do you wish to be lost?" Balinkoff swept the amber beam of his flashlight back and forth in the darkness until he finally focused on the little creature, who was perched up on top of a pile of rocks that lay up against the side of the mountain. The monkey pointed to the pile and the hill in great excitement until Balinkoff's bulbous eyes widened in understanding. Meanwhile, the tall man crouched on the ground beside Balinkoff, tossing pebbles into the ferns.

"Ah! Now I understand! Some kind of cave-in has occurred! That is why we could not find the entrance! But the signal is still strong: my equipment still functions. Let us pray that it is not beyond repair!" He turned to the tall man. "Pay attention, you stupid beast! You wish to throw stones? Then clear these rocks!"

The tall man swayed forwards as the little monkey scrambled nimbly down from the pile. As Balinkoff shone the light on the pile, the tall man seized boulder after boulder and tossed them effortlessly into the jungle. Balinkoff glanced down at the little monkey. "You miss your great strength, Igor, no? But then I forget – you were ready to trade that strength to become a woman! Will I ever forget my shock when you entered my laboratory in the body of Miss Grant!"

The monkey crossed his arms, pouting. Meanwhile, the tall man was enthusiastically pitching the last of the stones aside. When the cave mouth yawned open in a cloud of dust, the tall man clapped with childish joy. Balinkoff drew another biscuit from his pocket. "Well done. Now we shall see what remains of my masterpiece!"

They crept inside, peering about as the gleaming walls of the cave sprang up briefly in the strong beam of the flashlight before disappearing once again into the gloom. Balinkoff held a silk handkerchief to his face against the dust as they moved further in, and suddenly he exclaimed in a muffled cry of joy. "There it is, Igor! My computer! It is undamaged!" He raced up to the tall, dusty machine and wiped it with his handkerchief, running his hand over it as though it were priceless china. He flipped several switches, and little lights on the front of the machine glowed eerily in the darkness. "Ha, ha! Success, Igor! We can now move ahead as planned!" He pulled the little metal device from his pocket, and caressing it lovingly with his thumb, turned to the watching monkey and man.

"No more children's games of switching people's minds with animals, or using rings that turn men into robots! This new invention is my greatest triumph!" Balinkoff's maniacal eyes gleamed. "And now, to find my marooned guinea pig!"

In the valleys and along the coast the island was a green and pleasant land, but the mountains were a world all their own. Jealously guarding their secrets, they hid their high summits in a perpetual veil of mist, while their sharp, deep-shadowed fissures, carved by cascading waterfalls, dared only the suicidal to scale them. And the Whispering Mountain, towering, dark and lonely in the midst of the island's loveliness, was the most forbidding of them all.

The Skipper, the Professor and Gilligan made camp at the base of the mountain several hours after nightfall, hiking up the lower slope the next morning to begin their task. By late afternoon, as the three men still toiled in the damp mountain air, Gilligan was almost grateful that the task of unearthing the Professor's mushrooms was as distracting as it was backbreaking. Gilligan and the Skipper groaned as they pushed down on the thick branch they were using as a lever, while the Professor, kneeling nearby, watched the wobbling of the huge boulder that they sought to dislodge. "That's it, fellows. You've nearly got it!"

The Skipper's face was turning the colour of Gilligan's shirt. "Come on, Gilligan! Put some muscle into it!"

"Why don't we put_ your_ muscle into it?" gasped the first mate. He pointed at the Skipper's belly. "Like this one!"

"What?" the Skipper wheezed.

"Come on, Skipper. Just jump on the branch and that rock will go flying right into the sea!"

"Gilligan, that's ridiculous!"

Gilligan was underneath the branch now, skinny arms straining. "Not as ridiculous as this, Skipper! We'll never budge it!"

The Professor looked up imploringly. "This is the last one, Skipper. Just one more batch of mushrooms and I'll have enough to begin my experiment."

"Come on, Skipper! Please?" Gilligan's strength finally fizzled and he lost his hold, landing on his back amid the damp, springy ferns.

The Skipper stood up, dragging his arm across his sweating brow. "Oh, all right. Well, get out of the way, Gilligan!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Gilligan scrambled up with a sigh of relief and backed off to a safe distance.

"Here goes!" With difficulty, the Skipper hooked one leg onto the branch and hauled himself over. The giant boulder rocked and teetered like an upended egg.

"You've nearly got it, Skipper!" The Professor cried. "Hang on!"

The Skipper grunted and hooked both arms around the branch, trying to keep his balance. At last the boulder toppled forwards, and Gilligan and the Professor cheered as it went crashing down the slope and ploughed into the undergrowth below.

Of course, now that the rock was gone, there was nothing holding the branch in the air. "Doop!" yelled the Skipper as the branch plummeted like the wrong end of a see-saw, taking the old sea dog down with it. "Ow!"

Gilligan winced and hurried over. "You okay, Skipper? Guess you should have jumped ship before she went down!"

The Skipper groaned as he crawled painfully to his feet. "You better jump ship before I get my hands on you! Of all the hair-brained ideas!"

"But it worked," Gilligan noted, pointing to the Professor.

Down on all fours, the Professor was scrabbling like a terrier at the crater in the soil left by the boulder. He chortled for joy as he snatched up a bundle of thick, white tubes. "Oh, this is just wonderful! There's a treasure-trove of these fungi under here! I can't thank you two gentlemen enough. I never could have done it alone!"

The Skipper's wrath vanished like a snuffed candleflame at the Professor's praise. "Gosh," he chuckled, scratching his head shyly under the back of his captain's hat, "Well, we're glad to lend a hand any time, Professor. I sure hope these experiments of yours turn out the way you hope."

"Believe me, Skipper, if they do, the whole world will owe you a debt of gratitude for this discovery."

The Skipper blinked. "Come again?"

Gilligan was just as confused. "Professor, I'm pretty sure somebody else already discovered the lever."

The scientist laughed. "No, no, Gilligan. I mean they'll thank you for helping me collect these mushrooms. Scientists believed they were extinct, and I couldn't believe it when I found a surviving colony of them on this island."

The Skipper peered at the unprepossessing fungi. "I remember you telling us back at camp you thought you could use them for medicine, Professor. Are they really that valuable?"

The Professor held one up, eyes alight. "Skipper, they're worth their weight in gold. They have absolutely miraculous healing powers, and if my experiments prove conclusive, they're a wonder drug that could prove as revolutionary as penicillin!"

"Wow!" Gilligan exclaimed again.

"Yeah!" echoed the Skipper. "That's great, Professor!"

"But the Skipper and I didn't discover anything," Gilligan pointed out. "We didn't even discover the mushrooms – you did. We just helped you move the rocks."

"He's right, you know," the Skipper added. "We never would have guessed how important these mushrooms could be. The credit's all yours, Professor."

The Professor shook his head, smiling. "Nonsense. The credit belongs to all of us, just as do the resources of the island."

The Skipper laughed. "Well, thanks, Professor." Suddenly a loud, ominous rumble filled the air.

"What was that?" asked the Professor, looking around . "I hope we aren't in for a thunderstorm."

"Nope," said Gilligan, throwing a sly glance at his big buddy. "But on board ship that noise used to get the whole mess hall in a panic. 'Look out, fellas! The Skipper wants his chow and he wants it now! Every man for himself!'"

"Very funny!" Another rumble shook the air and the Skipper patted his belly in embarrassment. "But I've got to admit it – lunch sure seemed like a long time ago."

The Professor chuckled. "Well, why don't you two get started back to camp? After all, we did tell the others we'd be back by suppertime."

The Skipper started. "Aren't you coming with us, Professor?"

The Professor tossed a few more mushrooms in his bag. "No, Skipper, I'll follow you in a little while. I want to do a little archaeological exploring up there before I leave." He pointed up the incline, where the dark clouds draped cool fingers of mist over the hidden heights.

"Up _there_?" Gilligan gasped. All happy thoughts of camp and supper suddenly vanished. "Where the village was? Where those stone things are? Professor, you've got to be kidding! Bad enough we've come this far up this creepy mountain. You wouldn't get me up there for a million dollars!"

"And anyhow, this was supposed to be a mission to get mushrooms," said the Skipper, folding his arms. "How come you never mentioned anything about exploring those ruins until now, Professor?"

"If I had, would either one of you have come along?" The Professor shook his head, sighing. "Gentlemen, how long are you going to go on living in fear of things that are not real? There are no such things as ghosts or curses!"

"Evil is real, Professor," said the Skipper. "And a man who doesn't fear anything'll live to regret it. You mark my words."

"I swear last night I could hear somebody whispering in the jungle," said Gilligan, inching nearer to the Skipper as he looked fearfully up at the misty heights. "Something about, 'Quiet, you fool! They'll hear us!'"

The Professor rolled his eyes. "That was your imagination, Gilligan. Probably merely the wind in the trees. Did we see so much as one ghost last night? Did a single evil spirit creep up and cast a spell on us?"

"Well..." Gilligan's eyes flashed in accusation. "What about when the lean-to fell down on the Skipper's head?"

"That was only because you started so violently at the cry of that bird that you knocked the support pole down!"

"Oh...oh, yeah." Gilligan looked guiltily at the Skipper. "Sorry about that, Skipper."

"Never mind, Gilligan. I'm with you. The place has got to be full of hexes." The Skipper pointed up the slope. "Look at what they used to do up there!"

"Skipper, that was hundreds of years ago! The place is completely deserted! Those people are gone!"

"And good riddance!" The Skipper folded his big arms again and snorted. "Nice bunch of folks, all right. Human sacrifice, cannibalism...why, they used to execute somebody if he ate the wrong banana or stepped on the chief's shadow!"

"I wouldn't have lasted two minutes," gulped Gilligan.

"But you don't understand," the Professor pleaded, his eyes beginning to gleam with scientific hunger. He reached into his canvas bag that lay nearby and took out some small picks and brushes. "You don't realize how close I am. I've cracked the code of their hieroglyphics! I'll be able to write the definitive text on the subject of primitive Pacific tribes: far more groundbreaking than Professor Oldenberg's!" He held up two fingers in a pincer motion. "And I'm this close to solving the mystery of why this entire tribe suddenly vanished!"

The Skipper was unimpressed. "So that's why you were making so mysterious with that bag! Humph! Well, you might just vanish too, Professor, if you meddle in things you don't understand. Believe you me: some things are best left alone!"

The Professor stood up, brushing the dirt from his pantlegs. "Gentlemen, I spent two years with an archaeological expedition in Egypt, and the curse of the mummy's tomb didn't follow me afterwards. I'm willing to gamble that it won't affect me here, either. And I certainly don't intend to turn my back on a scientific breakthrough for the sake of a sailor's superstition!"

The Skipper bristled at the condescension. "Then how about for the sake of a promise?" he snapped. "We told the others we'd be back by tonight, and I don't like leaving the Howells and the girls all alone for long."

"Skipper, that seems perfectly reasonable to me," said the Professor. "So, why don't you and Gilligan start back as I suggested? Here's the map." He reached into his pocket for the paper, and as he drew it out the dried petals of Ginger's flower fluttered to the ground. "Oh...and, uh, tell the others I'll return in due time."

The Skipper shook his head. "I don't like leaving a man behind in a place like this. Even without the ghosts, it's none too safe up here with this crazy weather and these steep slopes! And you can forget about me going back and leaving Gilligan with you – he'll have nightmares for weeks!"

"Thanks, Skipper," Gilligan breathed. "Aw, come on, Professor. Come back with us, huh? You won't be safe here alone!"

The Professor laughed. "I used to teach woodsmanship, remember? I assure you, Gilligan, I'll have no difficulty managing alone or finding my way back."

The Skipper took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like steam from a pressure cooker. "Professor, I think I'd have better luck trying to move this mountain than moving you. Seems we're at a stalemate."

The Professor's smile was just a little triumphant. "Checkmate, I'd say."

"Sounds like the curse is working already, Professor," said Gilligan, frowning. "It made you cheat and and now it's made you into a wiseguy!"

"Well, we could wait another hour, I suppose," hedged the Skipper, looking up as the dark heights seemed to close in on them. "At least you wouldn't be alone. You never know—"

"What hobgoblins I might encounter?" The Professor's blue eyes danced with mischief. "Why, I'd consider it a splendid opportunity, Skipper. I could catalogue them right along with the ruins! What an article for National Geographic!"

"Har har. All right, Professor, I get the picture. Well, on your own head be it." The Skipper took the map and turned to Gilligan. "Weigh anchor there, little buddy. We've got a long way to go." When the two sailors had gathered their gear, including two large bags of mushrooms, they turned towards the twisting track that led down the mountain. The Skipper looked back, his eyes uneasy. "Be careful, Professor. That's an order."

The Professor waved, grinning. "I'll give your regards to the evil spirits!"

When the bright blue and red shirts of his friends finally disappeared amid the wild fortress of greenery that hugged the mountain's base, the Professor turned and started up the slope, eyes shining with eagerness.

But the Skipper and Gilligan had been right.

The Professor was not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Gilligan gave a great sigh of relief when he and the Skipper finally reached the beach. "Wow...sure is good to get down from there!" Gilligan glanced briefly back to where the solemn, grey-hooded cliffs soared up over the sea. "That place gives me the creeps."

The Skipper nodded, shivering. "You said it."

A few minutes after they'd started down the shoreline, Gilligan stooped to pick up a starfish that had washed ashore. "There you go, little fella," he called as he pitched it back into the sea. Then pulling down the brim of his sailor cap against the brilliant sun, the first mate looked out towards the monster green waves that roared in from the ocean in crashing, white-foamed glory. "Boy, looks like a great day for a swim. I could sure use one after that work out."

"Not out there you don't, little buddy." The Skipper briefly touched Gilligan's arm. "That surf's stronger than the Banzai Pipeline at Waimea. You'd be in Davy Jones' locker in no time."

Gilligan watched the churning, lathery mass of steel blue and blazing aqua smash against the reefs, shooting plumes of spray twenty feet into the air. "Aw, I know, Skipper. I can wait 'til we get to the lagoon."

"Good. Say, maybe I'll join you. That was hard work, all right." Yawning, the Skipper took off his cap and smoothed the hair back from his sweat-beaded forehead. "Boy, I'm looking forward to Mary Ann's cooking again. Maybe she'll have baked us more of that great bread, bless her heart."

"Yeah. And a coconut cream pie for dessert!"

The two men strolled along in companionable silence for awhile, squinting in the sunlight as the wind whipped the ocean and ruffled their hair.

"Think we'll see anybody in the lagoon, Skipper?" Gilligan said at last.

"Mmm?" The Skipper shrugged. "Well, Mary Ann'll be cooking and the Howells aren't so big on swimming. Ginger might be taking a sunbath, though." He suddenly broke into an eager smile. "Say, little buddy, hurry it up! That swim sounds like a great idea!"

"No, I don't mean our people, Skipper. I mean..._other_ people."

"Huh? What other people?"

"Like that guy in the boat in the lagoon last week!" Gilligan's eyes gleamed with suspicion. "I still say he looked like—"

"You're not off on that kick again, are you?" The Skipper rolled his eyes. "Look, Gilligan, none of us got a good look at that guy, whoever he was. He was way down at the far end of the lagoon by the time we came to our senses."

"_I _got a good look at him, Skipper! I'm the one that went in after him!"

"And nearly drowned yourself! Two years the navy spends teaching you about boats and you try to sail a car!"

"I did see him, Skipper! I couldn't mistake that face! It _was_ Boris Balinkoff!"

The Skipper shook his head. "Gilligan, you've got him on the brain. You've been having nightmares about his castle ever since he took us there and I'm tired of you waking me up with them."

"But Skipper—"

"And no more "Late Night Scary Mystery" on the radio for you, either! Go back to that nice station with Goldilocks and Cinderella."

"But it was Balinkoff, Skipper!" Gilligan insisted. "Who else would do those crazy things to us? Making us destroy our raft and collect all those coconuts!" The young sailor felt his meagre biceps. "My arms still ache!"

"Yeah..." The Skipper scratched his head. "Well, I've got to admit it. Whatever happened to us, it sure seems like something that looney tune would come up with."

"But why'd he do it, Skipper? What was in it for him?"

"Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good for anybody but him. He's got about as much conscience as a hammerhead shark." The Skipper sighed and shook his head. "Shame, isn't it?

"What is?"

"That a man with a brain like that only wants to use it for evil. I mean, look at the Professor. He's the smartest man I've ever known, and he's always trying to make the world better for everybody."

"Yeah, that's for sure." Gilligan looked back again at the sombre silhouette of the Whispering Mountain. "Hope he's okay."

The Skipper threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well, what was I supposed to do? Pick him up and carry him?"

Gilligan chuckled. "Naw. He'd squirm too much."

"Have to set him down every time he discovered a new fern, too." The old sea dog shook his head. "The Professor's a swell guy, all right, but he sure is stubborn."

"I guess so," said Gilligan noncommittally, waving at a sandpiper that was digging its beak into a tiny tidal pool. "Hey, Bernie. Good pickings today?"

The little bird peeped happily and skipped on.

The Skipper continued. "And there's just no arguing with him when he's got his books to back him up. A couple of years at sea wouldn't have done him any harm."

"What do you mean, Skipper?"

"Mmmm. Might have found out that those books of his don't have _all_ the answers."

"Like about what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Spirits. Good and evil." The big man raised a bemused eyebrow. "The birds and the bees."

Gilligan frowned. "He has got a book about birds, Skipper. One about bees, too. He showed them to me when I was trying to figure out whether Sam the parrot would eat honey on his crackers."

The Skipper threw a fond arm around Gilligan's shoulder. "Little buddy, we've really got to have that talk someday."

Suddenly a rumble that seemed to rival the ocean waves assaulted their ears. Gilligan grinned. "Gosh, Skipper. Speaking of crackers, we'd better get you some chow soon, or we'll all be in trouble!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if any savages on the nearby islands hear that, they might think it's some kind of war cry and attack us!"

"Very funny!"

"Or maybe it'll just scare them off. Though I gotta admit, it isn't half as loud or scary sounding as your snoring..."

"One more word out of you, wiseguy, and you _will_ be in Davy Jones' locker!" The Skipper's hand left Gilligan's shoulder. "Why don't you head into the jungle and get me some bananas or something, instead of making wisecracks?"

"Sure, Skipper. Maybe I'll get you a whole bunch!" Grinning, Gilligan dropped his gear, slipped off up the sand and vanished into the jungle before the Skipper could land him with his cap.

It certainly was far more close and sultry there, where stray shafts of golden light pierced the great hall of lush prehistoric greenery. A soft echo was all that remained of the distant surf. Gilligan looked around, searching for a banana tree. At last he spotted long, arching banana leaves gleaming in a sunbeam and hurried over to tug on a long, hanging bunch. As he yanked a smaller section of the bunch free, something tottered across the grass at Gilligan's feet, and he jumped.

It was a small, tailless, smooth-faced monkey with very intense, darting eyes. Nervously it backed away from the young sailor.

Gilligan crouched down, proffering a banana. "Hi, little fella! Where did you come from?"

The monkey bared his teeth and backed up. Gilligan stared, puzzled. "Take it easy, now. No one's going to hurt you." He suddenly noticed something very odd about this monkey. "Hey...where'd you get those clothes?" In his curiosity Gilligan reached out to touch the black cloth, but the monkey bit his hand. "OW!" Astonished, Gilligan snatched his hand back as the little monkey raced off into the undergrowth.

When Gilligan returned to the dazzling blue sky and waves of the beach, he was still nursing his hand. He handed the bananas over. "There you go, Skipper."

The Skipper noticed his distress. "Thanks...ep... little buddy! What happened to your hand?"

"There was a little monkey back there. He bit me."

The Skipper took Gilligan's hand and examined it carefully. "Hmm. Not too bad. Wish the Professor was here, though." He wet his handkerchief with water from a gourd and cleaned the shallow cut, then bound it up. When Gilligan's hand was done up like a big Christmas present, the Skipper looked at the jungle, eyes narrowing in confusion. "I don't get it. The monkeys usually eat right out of your hand, but not that way! What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing, Skipper! I've never seen one of them act like this! And there was another funny thing, Skipper. This monkey had clothes on!"

"What?"

"It's true," Gilligan insisted. "He had on a little black sweater and pants."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure! It isn't every day you see a monkey running around in a matching outfit! Where'd he get clothes?"

The Skipper shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe he stole them from our camp, like the time that baby chimp stole yours while you were swimming."

Gilligan shook his head, unconvinced. "But my clothes were way too big for him. This monkey's even smaller than he was, but the clothes fit him just perfectly – like they were made for a little kid! We don't have any little kids' clothes back at camp!"

"Well...maybe you only thought he had clothes on. Maybe it was a shadow, or he has a funny kind of fur."

"Pretty funny fur for a monkey if it's made out of wool," said Gilligan. "I'd swear it was a sweater...and I swear I've seen one just like it before..."

"I think maybe you're stomach's empty and it's gone to your head." The Skipper snapped a banana off the bunch, peeled the top, and handed it to Gilligan. "Come on, little buddy. Let's get back to camp and get Mary Ann to fix both."

He handed Gilligan his gear and steered the smaller man down the sunny shore, but Gilligan, eyes bright with suspicion, kept looking back at the dark jungle.

Back on the slope of the mountain, the Professor was kneeling by a great boulder, eagerly copying the carvings on its face into a little notebook. Suddenly he stared at the main image on the boulder, then whipped his head around to look at the slope below, and the far-off, wrinkled sea. "Good heavens – that's it! That's the answer!" He turned back to the boulder, drawing furiously.

Boris Balinkoff grinned from his hiding place in the dense green ferns. "How kind of you, Professor," he whispered. "First your campfire last night leads me to your bivouac, and now you so conveniently send Gilligan and the Skipper away!"

Suddenly Balinkoff heard a thud behind him and turned, still crouched low. The tall man who had accompanied him was clumsily digging a large stone out of the earth. He picked it up and threw it, and another thud sounded. "You stupid ape!" Balinkoff hissed. "Stop throwing things! Do you want him to discover us?"

The Professor had glanced back at the second thud. "Skipper? Gilligan? Is that you?"

The tall man grunted nervously and backed up, sending the bushes swaying.

Now the Professor turned around, arms tensed at his sides. "Skipper, if this is your way of getting me to believe in your silly superstitions-" He strode towards the bushes.

Frantic, Balinkoff fiddled with a dial on the face of his little metal device. "It is now or never," he whispered. With the Professor only footsteps away, Balinkoff aimed the device and fired.

An intense ray of blue light sprang from the little metal device and hit the Professor square in the face. For a few moments the scientist stood immobile and expressionless, and then collapsed to the ground.

Balinkoff swept fluidly to his feet, black cape flowing. Trembling in his eagerness, he thrust the metal device into his pocket and stole over to where the Professor lay. The tall man scrambled along behind him.

Balinkoff reached down and took his victim's pulse. He grinned, but not kindly. "He is unharmed! He should wake in a few minutes! But before we reveal our presence to him I must observe his behaviour among his companions to make certain my device has worked."

A slight whimpering noise answered him. But the sound did not come from the Professor: it came instead from the tall man in the black sweater and pants, whose head was cocked on its side as he stared at the motionless form in wordless pity. He fingered his lip in worry, then reached out to gently touch the Professor's hair. "Sentimental beast," Balinkoff sniffed.

At this moment the little monkey came scurrying out of the undergrowth, but Balinkoff was so focused on the tall man that he took no notice. He addressed the mute in tones of condescension. "You feel much more for humans than Igor does – and he a human himself!" Again came the malicious grin. "Only in mind however; not in body! But he is as witless as a beast if he believes I will ever change him back into his human form! He has proven he cannot be trusted. When I am done with him I will sell him to a circus. It is all that he is good for!"

The little monkey stopped dead. He bared his teeth and clenched his fists as if ready to attack, but paused when he realized that Balinkoff had not seen him. Silently he slunk back into the foliage, and then scampered out again in an exaggerated burst of noise.

Balinkoff whirled at the sound, gasping in exasperation and relief as he recognized his servant. "Igor! Do not sneak up on me in that way!"

The monkey bowed his head as if in apology.

"Did you do as you were told? Did you follow the Skipper and Gilligan?"

The monkey nodded.

"You are certain they did not witness what happened here?"

The monkey nodded again.

"Did either of them see you?"

This time the monkey shook his head back and forth.

Balinkoff stroked his beard, eyes narrowing in distrust. "That is most fortunate. Why you insist on wearing clothes when you are no longer a man is perplexing even to me, but not half so perplexing as it would be to the castaways if they were to see you." He eyed the ape again. "And last night when you installed the listening devices at their camp, you are certain that you went unnoticed?"

For the last time the monkey nodded, blinking innocently.

Suddenly there was a rustling at their feet. The Professor was stirring.

"Quickly! Back to the bushes!" exclaimed Balinkoff. He grabbed the tall man and the monkey by the arm and dragged them back into hiding.

Slowly the Professor sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "How did I get down here?" He yawned. "Hmmm. Undoubtedly exhaustion. No doubt the same thing that caused me to hallucinate that I heard noises." He looked around and suddenly saw the bag with the mushrooms. Balinkoff and his two minions watched silently.

The Professor pulled out one of the mushrooms and grinned a grin not unlike the one Boris Balinkoff had worn moments earlier. His blue eyes gleamed with an unhealthy joy. "Lichoperdin Echinatum," he murmured. "For medicine? What a waste! What in the world was I thinking? These can be made into the deadliest poisons in the world!"

From behind the bush, Boris Balinkoff rubbed his hands and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Towards evening, in his cave, Boris Balinkoff sat twisting the dials of his blinking, humming computer. Igor sat nearby with crossed arms while the ape in Igor's human body amused himself by burying pebbles in the sand and digging them up again. Suddenly the voices of the girls crackled over a grated speaker. "Have we got any more leaf napkins left over from lunch, Mary Ann?"

"I think so. In the supply hut, next to the extra candles."

"Okay."

Balinkoff chuckled. "Am I not a genius, Igor? To think of bugging their dining area as well as their huts? Now I can monitor every word the castaways utter, and they shall be none the wiser!"

After a moment, Ginger's voice sounded again. "Found them. Gee, I guess we always could have plucked more off the trees!" Then her voice sounded alarmed. "Oh, Mary Ann! Look at this bug on the table!"

Balinkoff shot a look of wide-eyed horror at his little assistant. "Igor, you fool! They have found it! Why did you not hide the microphone _under _the table?"

The monkey glared back in resentment as Mary Ann spoke up again. "Ugh! Look at the legs on it! Slow down, you ugly thing!"

There was a _whap_ sound, and then the sound of Ginger gasping. "Ugh! And it flies, too! Good thing you missed it, though, Mary Ann! The Professor would have wanted to add it to his collection, and he doesn't like his specimens squashed."

"You're right. Eww. Awful things."

Balinkoff gave a great sigh of relief as the monkey sniffed and rolled its eyes.

In the castaways' camp, quite unaware of their eavesdroppers, Mary Ann shook some pepper into a bubbling pot of clam chowder and carefully tasted a spoonful as Ginger finished setting the table. A cheery tune warbled from the radio as Mary Ann wiped the spoon on her banana-leaf apron. "Nearly ready! The Skipper and Gilligan said they'd be back from their swim in about an hour. That should be anytime now."

Ginger lit the tiki torches in the swiftly fading light of the sunset. "Yeah. When it comes to meals, the Skipper and Gilligan are better than an egg-timer." She looked over at the jungle, biting her lip. "I wish the Professor was the same. Wonder how long he'll be?"

Mary Ann shook her head in comic resignation. "Oh, you know how wrapped up the Professor gets in his experiments. He probably just lost track of time." As if on cue, there came a rustling from the bushes. "I'll bet that's him now," said Mary Ann, and Ginger drew in a deep breath as she smoothed down her hair.

But that breath turned to a disappointed sigh when it was the Howells that emerged from the jungle. Their blue-and-white golf outfits matched perfectly, apart from the bamboo golf bag slung over Thurston's shoulder. "I do hope the Professor's mushrooms are worth all this fuss, Lovey," Mr. Howell was saying. "Dragging Gilligan halfway up a mountain on a perfect day for golf! So dashed inconvenient, not having my caddy."

Mrs. Howell patted his arm. "You did wonderfully without him, dear. And besides, almost every day here is a perfect day for golf."

"That's not the point, Lovey. Do you realize how much I've perspired today? I think I've exceeded the Amazon's annual rainfall!" Mr. Howell now noticed the bamboo tumblers and pitcher on the table. "Oh, thank goodness! Liquid refreshment! Girls, you are angels and ministers of grace. I'm positively desiccated."

Ginger poured him a drink, and a second one for Mrs. Howell. The millionaire slung off his golf bag and groaned in relief as he sat down at the bench and took a deep draught.

Mrs. Howell sat daintily next to him. "Have the men come back yet, girls?"

"Not the Professor," said Ginger, looking out at the jungle again. "I wish he'd hurry."

"The Skipper and Gilligan got back a little while ago," said Mary Ann. "They went down to the lagoon for a swim."

Thurston Howell sat up in indignation as he fanned himself with his cap. "For a swim? And me having to carry this heavy bag all over the course? Honestly, the way those two carry on, you'd think this island was a resort. Nothing but play, play, play, all the time."

Mary Ann raised an eyebrow and bit her tongue. "Well, I'm afraid Gilligan wouldn't have been much use to you as a caddy today, Mr. Howell. A monkey bit his hand."

Mrs. Howell gasped. "Oh, the poor boy! He hasn't lost any fingers, has he?"

"Oh, no, Mrs. Howell! It wasn't that bad! But his hand was still pretty sore."

In the cave, Balinkoff glared at Igor. "Igor! Did you allow Gilligan to see you? Did you _bite _him?"

The little monkey shook his head violently, but Balinkoff's eyes narrowed in suspicion before he bent to listen again.

Back at camp, Ginger finally looked away from the jungle as she pursed her lips in thought. "That was really strange, you know? I can't remember Gilligan ever getting bitten by anything but an insect. How come he could tame a lion, but not a monkey?"

"You're right, Ginger. The lobsters don't even pinch him," added Mary Ann. "I just don't get it."

"Perhaps it's his red shirt," suggested Mrs. Howell. "They think he's one of them, only bigger."

"Who thinks that, my dear?" asked her confused husband.

"The red lobsters, Thurston. The ones Gilligan catches in the lagoon."

Thurston blinked at her, more confused than ever. "Lovey, my dear, that's ridiculous."

His wife thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, how silly of me!" She smiled fondly. "I've seen lobsters dozens of times in restaurants; the live ones are green!"

This time Mary Ann blinked at Mrs. Howell for a moment herself before breaking into a bemused laugh and shaking her head. "Oh, Mrs. Howell, all I meant was that I don't understand why any animal would have bitten Gilligan."

"He was bitten by a bat, as I recall," Mr. Howell pointed out. "And then went running about the island thinking he'd turned into a vampire and tried to make a midnight snack out of my wife's neck." His heavy eyebrows rose in alarm. "Heavens, I hope this doesn't make the boy believe he's going to turn into Tarzan! He's none too steady swinging from those vines!"

"Don't worry about that, Howell," came the Skipper's voice from the edge of the camp as he and Gilligan appeared out of the jungle with their hair wet and gleaming, and damp beach towels slung over their arms. "My little buddy's been through with Tarzan since the costume party. Skipper's orders."

"And I don't think I'm going to turn into King Kong either," Gilligan added dryly as he slid to a seat on the bench.

"How's your hand, dear boy?" Mrs. Howell asked. "May I look at it? I used to be a nurse's aide, you know."

Gilligan smiled as she took his hand and peered through her lorgnette at his bandaged knuckles. "It's fine, Mrs. Howell. Guess I must have just startled the little guy. Sure was strange, though. You know, I could have sworn he was wear—"

"Say, where's the Professor?" asked the Skipper. "Isn't he back yet?"

When the girls shook their heads, Gilligan shot the Skipper a look of doom. "Oh, Skipper! We warned him!"

"Gilligan! You're scaring the women again!"

"Warned him about what?" gasped Ginger. "Skipper, you don't think something's happened to him, do you?"

The Skipper held up a calming hand. "Take it easy, Ginger. He's probably fine, but just to be on the safe side, we'd better start looking for him. Gilligan, you and Mary Ann go up the jungle trail, Ginger and I will take the beach, and the Howells can stay here in case the Professor comes back on his own. Mr. Howell, if he does come back, blow on the conch shell to signal us."

"Right you are, Captain."

The Skipper turned to the two youngest castaways. "Gilligan, Mary Ann, we'll reconnoitre back here at 21:00 hours."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

In the cave, Boris Balinkoff bit his knuckles in worry. "What can the Professor be doing, Igor? We cannot have the castaways searching the island for him! They might find this cave!"

Suddenly another voice crackled over the speaker – a distracted voice, that seemed to be talking to itself rather than anyone else, "...and if I increased the effect by adding a powerful alkaloid... "

There came a wild chorus of relieved voices.

"Professor! Oh, thank goodness!"

"You're okay!"

"By Jove! Dr. Livingstone, I presume!"

"What? I thought the Professor's name was Hinkley."

"My boy, that's just an expression."

"Oh."

Balinkoff listened intently. "Now we will know, Igor. Did he see us? Does he remember us?"

"Professor, what happened to you?" said the Skipper. "Where have you been?"

There was a note of annoyance in the Professor's voice. "What? Oh. I had a brief touch of fatigue, Skipper; nothing for you to be concerned about."

Balinkoff rubbed his hands. "Success! He says nothing of our presence!"

Back at camp, Ginger had run up and thrown her arms about the Professor, but he didn't even look at her. In fact, he gave a bit of an impatient shrug to free himself as he began passing out sheets of paper with hastily scribbled lists. Ginger looked at the papers for a moment before sitting down hesitantly.

"Now pay attention, everyone. I need you to locate these items for my experiments."

Gilligan frowned at his sheet. "Belladona...if I knew what it was I'd help you find it, Professor."

"It's Italian, Gilligan," explained Mr. Howell. "For beautiful lady."

"Like Sophia Loren?" Gilligan looked at the Professor as though the scientist had been nibbling on the wrong kind of mushrooms. "Don't think there's much chance you're gonna find her here on this island, Professor. But maybe you oughtta send the Skipper. He always says that when it comes to pretty girls, he's got radar."

"Gilligan!" The Skipper's cap landed square on his first mate's. "You've got more nerve than an abscessed tooth!"

The Professor tisked in impatience. "That's simply its Latin name, Gilligan. It's a plant that bears small, shiny black berries. Here: it's most important you find the correct variety." He whipped out a pad of paper, drew a quick sketch and handed it to the young sailor. "It's going to be part of the experiment involving the rare mushrooms."

"For the medicine? Oh, sure, Professor."

"Medicine?" Mrs. Howell beamed. "Oh, Gilligan, I'd like to come along. It'll give me a chance to wear that nurse's costume Mary Ann made for me. I do look so well in white."

Gilligan smiled, a bit confused. "Okay, Mrs. Howell. I just hope that we don't clash."

In the meantime, Mary Ann was looking at her list. "Sea water...well, I was planning to go down to Sunset Cove this afternoon anyway. What's it for, Professor?"

"The radio's batteries are running low," he replied absently, looking over his notes. "I intend to recharge them in order to test that tracking device I've been working on."

"All right, Professor," said Mary Ann. "And while I'm there, I'll look for some more nice oysters like the ones Gilligan and I found there the other day."

Mr. Howell's eyes lit. "Oysters, did you say, Mary Ann? Perhaps I'll go with you, then. One never can have too many pearls!"

Mrs. Howell preened. "That's right, Thurston, darling! And I am so in need of a new string. I do so hate to wear last year's pearls."

The Skipper fingered his chin as he looked at his list with Ginger. "Coconuts...well, there's enough on the ground after that last storm. I don't know what they're good for, Professor, except making a pie."

The Professor smiled slyly. "Just you wait, Skipper. This new idea is absolutely brilliant!"

"Don't think I'd be any good at carrying coconuts," said Ginger, resting her chin on her delicate fingers as she smiled at the scientist. "Do you need any help in your lab, Professor?"

The Professor shook his head abruptly. "No, no, these experiments are all far too complicated for you to understand." His eyes shone with a feverish light. "I hardly know what's gotten into me today. My mind is so teeming with ideas I hardly know where to begin!"

When the actress's face fell, the Skipper waved his fingers at her shyly. "You could still come with me, Ginger. You could help me find my way back if I get lost."

"See?" said Gilligan. "Told you the Skipper could find you your belly donna, Professor. He's found one already! You should see the little black book he's got in his sea-chest. It's got more names than the Philadelphia phone directory!"

The Skipper's hat hit bullseye a second time and Ginger managed a grateful smile at them both. "You boys sure know how to build a girl's ego. All right, Skipper. Let's go coconut hunting."

"Great!" The Skipper beamed. "Say, Mary Ann, that smells great. Are we ready to eat?"

The Professor blinked and glanced at the table as though he hadn't even seen it. "Wait a minute: I need these ingredients at once if I'm to carry on my work! We can't waste time refuelling!"

"But Professor! We made all this as a homecoming dinner for the three of you!" said Ginger. "Mary Ann's made soup and I've made my jelly sand dabs..."

"And we've put in a lot of man hours today, Professor," added the Skipper. "I don't know about you, but I'm famished!"

"Do you know how much effort toting a heavy golf bag about all day requires?" asked Mr. Howell. "I feel I may faint!"

The Professor shook his head abruptly. "Oh...well, if you must. But I insist we all get started first thing in the morning!" He turned on his heel and started for his hut.

"Professor!" cried Mary Ann. "Don't you want anything to eat?"

The Professor turned back for a moment, then reached out and grabbed a few pieces of fruit. "I mustn't waste time, Mary Ann. Strike while the iron is hot!"

The Skipper shook his head and laughed as the Professor disappeared into his hut. "That guy's really something. He never quits! Boy, what a crew he'd make!"

"What an employee!" said Mr. Howell.

"He sure is always thinking of ways to help people," said Gilligan.

In the cave, Boris Balinkoff flashed an evil smile. "That is what you think, my naive young friend. Thanks to my Jekyll and Hyde ray, your dear Professor will help only one person from now on – me!"


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning after an early breakfast, the castaways dispersed on the Professor's errands while he remained behind in his hut to work. Gilligan and Mrs. Howell came back about two hours later, the first mate carrying a heaping basket of shiny black berries.

As they entered the camp Mrs. Howell exclaimed in delight, white-gloved hands fluttering before her crisp nurse's uniform. "Oh, Gilligan, look! I think we're the first of the expeditions to return! What a splendid team we are! Won't the Professor be pleased with all these lovely berries?"

Gilligan licked his lips. "They sure look good, don't they? Good thing we'd already had breakfast, or I might have tried to sneak a few." He set the basket on the table. "I wonder what the Professor's going to do with these, anyway? I've never heard of a medicine that used berries before."

"Perhaps it's to sweeten the flavour. I wonder whether they make good jam? I should like to serve something memorable at my next tea party."

"Great idea, Mrs. Howell. Maybe Mary Ann could make some pies out of them too." Gilligan tossed one in the air and waited, open-mouthed, but then caught it in his hand at the last second. "Naw, I'd better wait and see whether the Professor needs all of these. This experiment's too important."

Mrs. Howell sighed in wonder. "I could scarcely believe it when you told me, Gilligan. Our Professor has actually discovered a miracle medicine right here on the island!"

"That's right, Mrs. Howell. It'll help a lot of people when we get back to civilization."

"How wonderful! Thurston will want to be involved, I'm sure."

Gilligan nodded. "Yeah, I'll bet he could really set the Professor up: big labs and everything. So Mr. Howell wants to get into the medicine business, huh?"

"Oh, yes. Only the higher end variety, of course." Mrs. Howell gave her hair a supercilious pat. "After all, one never knows what's in those common brands. They probably do more harm than good!"

"My great uncle Seamus sure found that out," said Gilligan.

"He did? Oh, dear. What brand did he try?"

"His own. He used to sell it out of the back of his wagon. Seamus Gilligan's Emerald Isle Elixir."

"What a lovely name. What was it used for?"

"All kinds of things. Uncle Seamus said it could grow hair on your chest, cure the common cold and make a lame horse run like the wind. Made your nose go red too: at least his did, and he drank it by the caseful."

"Oh. What was in it?"

Gilligan shrugged, puzzled. "I dunno. He made it out back of his farm. Never let me try any. 'Ah, begorrah, not 'til ye're older, me boyo, or you're mother'll have me hide,' he used to say." Gilligan sighed sadly. "The stuff didn't do him much good, though."

"Oh? What happened to him?"

"One day he'd been drinking some, and he didn't do the horse up in the shafts right. Then they were going up this big hill, see, but the next thing he knew, he was going down backwards – and the horse wasn't." Gilligan shook his head. "When they found him they said he was pickled inside _and_ out."

"Oh, dear!" Mrs. Howell patted his cheek in sympathy. "What a dreadful shame. Well, perhaps the Professor will have better luck with these berries." She gestured to the Professor's hut. "Shall we?"

They knocked on the door and entered the hut to find the Professor intent upon pouring some smoking liquid into a bamboo beaker.

"Hi, Professor!" called Gilligan. "Mrs. Howell and I brought those berries you needed."

The Professor spun, his blue eyes unnaturally bright. "Ah! Atropa Belladona!"

"Oh, that name! It's perfectly musical!" said Mrs. Howell.

"Yeah," said Gilligan. "They look good too." He lifted out a bunch and rolled them in his hand as his eyes lit with hunger. "Boy, I bet they make great ice cream syrup."

The Professor burst into a sudden chuckle, as at a private joke. "What a wonderful idea. I may file a patent on it!"

Mrs. Howell drew her lorgnette from her pocket and peered at the berries in Gilligan's hand. "Would they make good jam, do you think, Professor? Thurston does adore jam with scones. I should so like to surprise him at our next English tea party!"

"You'd surprise him all right," said the Professor, chuckling all the more. "I hadn't thought of disgruntled wives as a market for these!"

She put down the lorgnette and drew back. "Whatever do you mean?"

The Professor grinned at them, holding up some berries. "This is Deadly Nightshade."

"_What?"_

And my, do they live up to that name!" This time the Professor threw back his head and laughed outright.

"Ulp!" squeaked Gilligan, dropping the berries as though he had picked up a nest of spiders. He and Mrs. Howell blinked in dismay as the Professor snatched the basket in his eagerness and threw the berries into a boiling pot.

"Uh...work going okay, Professor?" ventured Gilligan, darting glances between the Professor and what now seemed like a bubbling cauldron.

"It's going splendidly. The properties of these fungi have far exceeded my expectations!"

Mrs. Howell nodded, a little reassured by the Professor's enthusiasm. "Does that mean you'll be able to use them, Professor!"

"Use them?" The Professor rounded on her with a manically delighted grin. "Oh, I can assure you, I'll use them! These mushrooms are more deadly than any toadstool known to man! When combined with the properties of these highly toxic berries, they'll produce a poison capable of killing a man within minutes!"

Gilligan's and Mrs. Howell's jaws hit the sand floor at about the same time. They stared at one another for a moment, then back at the Professor. "I-I do beg your pardon, Professor," stammered Mrs. Howell. "What did you say?"

The Professor smiled condescendingly, as though repeating a lecture point for a particularly stupid student. "I said that this is one of the most powerful and incurable poisons ever invented. And only I know the cure. With this poison I could take over the world!"

Gilligan and Mrs. Howell were agog. "Uh...I know we kind of lose track of time here, but it's not April 1st, is it, Professor?" Gilligan asked.

Mrs. Howell's usually kind features hardened. "Professor, I find this joke to be in very poor taste."

The Professor smiled wickedly. "Oh, it's no joke, I assure you. It's absolutely delicious!" Come over here and see!" In his eagerness he caught Gilligan by the sleeve and dragged him over to the Bunsen burners. Gilligan, clutching Mrs. Howell's arm, pulled her with him.

The Professor pointed to the swirling mixture bubbling its way through the clear plastic tubing. "First the poison paralyzes the nervous system so that the victim jerks uncontrollably. Like this, ha ha!" The Professor gambolled merrily about the room for illustration, arms and legs flailing like a marionette with a drunk puppeteer.

Gilligan and Mrs. Howell watched him, aghast.

"Then it attacks the senses: the victim experiences loss of balance, slurred speech and terrible hallucinations!" Now the Professor staggered about in circles with a look of terror on his face, pointing wildly in the air. "L-l-l-ook! M-m-m-onster-ers! Hel-l-l-p m-me!" He grabbed Gilligan. "R-Run f-for your l-lives!"

Gilligan very nearly did, but the Professor hung onto him, tense with eagerness. "And then finally, in the coup-de-gras, the poison paralyzes the respiratory system, and the victim slowly but surely suffocates!" The Professor clutched his throat, wheezing and gasping, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head, until he collapsed on the floor. His legs jiggled once for emphasis, and then he lay still.

"Professor?" Mrs. Howell whispered.

The Professor sat bolt upright and laughed. "Ha ha!"

By now Mrs. Howell and Gilligan were clutching each other by the arms and backing towards the door. "Wow. Th-that's great, Professor," said Gilligan, desperately afraid he was going to trip over something and earn the Professor's ire. "Well, we don't want to bother you anymore. We'll get out of your way now."

"Yes, Professor. Please do try not to strain yourself," said Mrs. Howell faintly.

When Gilligan backed into the wooden door he thrust it open and nearly pushed Mrs. Howell out. "Well...uh...see you later!"

The moment they were back outside in the sunshine the pair stared at each other. "Mrs. Howell...did I just dream that or did the Professor just say what I think he did?"

"The Professor did say what you think he did...only I do wish he didn't...I mean hadn't...oh, Gilligan, this is dreadful! The poor Professor must be ill!"

"I'll say!" Gilligan looked at the Professor's hut and shivered. "I never thought the Professor would talk like that – or act like that! We've gotta tell the Skipper!"

"And Thurston! They'll know what to do." She suddenly gasped. "And we must tell them before—"

"Before what?" Gilligan wasn't sure he really wanted to hear.

"Before he decides to try out that poison on one of us!"

That mad performance of the Professor's now took on an even more ominous tone. Gilligan's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, my gosh! I think I just swore off pies and jam for good!"

"Oh, please, dear boy, get going and find the Skipper and Ginger! And I'll find Thurston and Mary Ann." Mrs. Howell looked down at her nurse's uniform. "Oh, Gilligan! I hope I don't need this costume before the day is over!"

Gilligan's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed in fear. "I hope so too, Mrs. Howell. See you later – and be careful!"

Mrs. Howell watched nervously as the first mate's red shirt and white cap swiftly disappeared into the jungle. A sudden rustling in the bushes made her jump, but she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw that it was her husband and Mary Ann, each carrying a bucket. Mrs. Howell rushed into Mr. Howell's arms so quickly that he dropped his bucket, and a mass of oysters slid onto the ground.

"Oh, Thurston! Thank goodness!"

"Lovey, be careful! That's our dinner – and your new jewellery!" Thurston suddenly noticed her distress and took her arms gently. "Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?"

"Gosh, what is it, Mrs. Howell?" Mary Ann glanced back at the jungle. "Why did Gilligan just run off like that?"

Mrs. Howell clung to her husband. "He's gone to find the Skipper! Oh, Thurston, the most dreadful thing has happened!"

"What, my dear?"

"The Professor!" she cried. "He's gone mad!"

"He's w_hat?_" the others chorused.

Mrs. Howell nodded. "He just told Gilligan and me that he was going to use our berries to make a poison to kill people! He said he wanted to take over the world!"

The pair stared at her in disbelief. "That can't be!" cried Mary Ann. "The Professor would never do anything like that! Are you sure you heard him right?"

"Lovey, my dear, Mary Ann's right. You must have simply misunderstood him. Perhaps he was speaking of a poison to get rid of insects or something."

"No, Thurston!" Mrs. Howell's starched white nurse's cap bobbed in affirmation. "He was most emphatically speaking about people! And Gilligan heard him too! It was dreadful! Our dear Professor's become a fiend!"

Mr. Howell raised a worried eyebrow at Mary Ann before turning back to his wife. "Lovey, darling, it's terribly hot out here. Perhaps you ought to go to the hut to lie down."

"Thurston Howell, don't you dare patronize me! I am not under a delusion!" Mrs. Howell pointed to the Professor's hut. "Go in and see for yourself!"

Mary Ann bit her lip. "Gee, Mr. Howell. Maybe we should!"

Mr. Howell had never seen his wife so adamant. He pulled out a chair for her to sit down. "Very well, my dear...if you promise to stay right here until we return!"

She did sit, but wrung her hands 'til she had all but pulled off her white kid gloves. "I shall, Thurston! Only do be careful!" She flung an anguished look at the jungle. "Oh, I do wish Gilligan would hurry and find the Skipper!"

Mr. Howell took Mary Ann's hand and led her towards the hut. "Mary Ann, my dear, I'm afraid my poor wife has gone island-happy!"

The farm girl nodded in sympathy. "That's probably why Gilligan went to find the Skipper in such a hurry. Oh, Mr. Howell, I'm so sorry!"

"I pray it's just temporary, my dear. I'm sure the Professor will think of something."

When Mr. Howell and Mary Ann entered the Professor's hut, they were reassured when they saw the Professor sitting at his laboratory table in his usual manner, intent upon tinkering with a tiny bit of machinery with a pair of tweezers. "Professor," began Mr. Howell, "I'm terribly worried about Mrs. Howell. She's completely overwrought!"

"She certainly looked it when she left," said the Professor, grinning. "Gilligan as well. Isn't he amusing when he's frightened? He fairly jumps right out of his shoes!"

The Professor's reaction threw both Mr. Howell and Mary Ann off. They looked at one another for a moment. "Well, then at least it seems my poor wife isn't alone in her impression," said Mr. Howell, somewhat relieved but still puzzled. "But I say, old man, have you any idea what gave them both such a fright? It seems they're convinced you've turned into Dr. Frankenstein!"

The Professor laughed. "That's hardly surprising. Gilligan gets his ideas about science from ridiculous horror films and comic books, Mr. Howell. No wonder he has nightmares."

Mr. Howell chuckled. "By George, that's true! Frankenstein! Godzilla! The Island of Dr. Moreau! Of course, that's the answer. The poor boy must have let his imagination run away with him again, and he managed to convince my poor dear impressionable wife." The millionaire heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Won't they be red-faced with embarrassment when I tell them the truth! Oh, Professor, you can't imagine what a weight you've lifted from my mind."

"Mine too, Professor," said Mary Ann, smiling. "I knew there had to be some kind of sensible explanation. Oh, here's the seawater you wanted." She lifted her bucket and nodded at a table in the corner lined with the half shells of coconuts. Next to them lay metal strips and a pile of copper pennies. "I see you've got your recharging station all set up. Shall I fill the cups?"

"Yes, yes, at once." The Professor lifted a small metal device from the table where he was working: a device that looked not unlike Balinkoff's control box. "I want to test my new device as soon as possible. It's absolutely brilliant!"

Mr. Howell craned his neck over to see better. "I say, Professor, just what is it you're tinkering with there? You know I'm always on the lookout for promising new investment opportunities." He fished his reading glasses out of his pocket and peered at the raisin-sized object that lay on the microscope slide. "By George, even the Japanese aren't producing electronics that tiny. What does it do?"

"It's a transmitter, Mr. Howell. It emits a simple signal that can be picked up by short wave."

"A signal?" gasped Mary Ann, momentarily pausing as she ladled water into the cups. "You mean we'll be able to get a message through to civilization?"

"No, no. With the limited power we can generate here, its range is very short. At the moment its signal couldn't extend beyond the shores of this island."

"Oh. Pity it's such a tiny thing. You couldn't enlarge it, could you, old man?"

"Enlarge it?" The Professor was appalled. "Why, Mr. Howell, that would defeat its purpose altogether! Its whole beauty is that with its miniscule size, it would be virtually undetectable by its host!"

Mr. Howell was confused. "Host?"

"Yes! And with the grappling devices I've attached, this transmitter could remain fastened to its host throughout all kinds of rigorous physical activity!"

"Fastened to its host?" said Mary Ann, putting down her bucket now that she had finished. "Oh, wait a minute! Gilligan told me about this when he first got back; he was so excited! This is your tracking device, isn't it, Professor?"

The Professor nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! The most sophisticated of its kind! It will be worth millions!"

"Millions, did you say?" The millionaire rubbed his hands. "Well, then, count me in! We'll go into mass production as soon as possible! But...what exactly does it track?"

"Animals," said Mary Ann. "I used to see it on Wild Kingdom all the time. They can figure out where the animals migrate in the different seasons."

"Oh...sort of a wildlife conservation venture, eh, Professor?" The millionaire frowned. "Are you sure there would be much profit in that?"

The Professor shook his head, dismissing the idea. "Of course not. Who cares where wild animals go? But this device would make an extraordinary difference in the world of the assassin!"

"Assassin?" gasped Mr. Howell and Mary Ann. The two glanced at each other before staring at the Professor again. "What do you mean?"

"Why, it's simple!" The Professor held up the tiny device with his tweezers. "You attach this to the victim, you see? Simply toss it onto his coat when he isn't looking. It won't become dislodged, no matter what he does. Then you can track him wherever he goes; he can never, ever hide. And as the assassin, you can bide your time. Wait until he's alone, and there's a convenient place nearby to hide the body. And then—" he pointed two fingers. "Pow!" And the job is done!" He rubbed his hands neatly and grinned.

Mary Ann moved over to Mr. Howell's side as the Professor giggled merrily at his device before placing it back under the microscope. "P-Professor! Why should you want to invent a terrible thing like that?"

The Professor beamed up at her. "Despots and criminal overlords would pay a king's ransom for it, Mary Ann! And I could keep track of them all – no one could hide from me! With that kind of power, I could rule the world!"

"Good heavens...my dear wife _was_ right!" whispered Mr. Howell. He pulled on Mary Ann's arm and cleared his throat ostentatiously. "Uh, come along, Mary Ann, my dear! Let's let the Professor continue with his work. I believe I hear Lovey calling me." Elaborately he cupped a hand to his ear. "Yes, yes, coming dear! Well, ta ta, Professor. Uh...keep the old nose to the grindstone!"

When Mr. Howell and Mary Ann got outside, they found Mrs. Howell standing by the table, her gloves wrinkled from wringing. "Well, Thurston?"

"You were absolutely right, my dear!" Mr. Howell peered behind him at the hut, lowering his voice in case the Professor were listening. "Our good Professor Hinkley has become Professor Moriarty! A Napoleon of crime!"

"What are we going to do?" cried Mary Ann.

Suddenly they heard the unmistakable boom of the Skipper's voice from the jungle. "Gilligan, will you knock it off, for Pete's sake? That's the silliest story I ever heard!"

"Keep it down, Skipper! You want him to hear you?"

"Poison pies and jam! Gilligan, he was just pulling a fast one on you!"

"The Professor doesn't pull fast ones!"

"Oh no?" The Skipper's laugh boomed again as he, Gilligan and Ginger emerged from the jungle. "Remember his gag with the giant needle? Ho, ho, you really got the point that time!"

"In more ways than one!" Gilligan scowled for a moment before he remembered he was frightened. "But this is no joke, Skipper. The Professor told us so!"

"He's right, Captain!" cried Mrs. Howell. "There's something terribly wrong with the Professor! He's using all his great intelligence for harm!"

"Absolutely!" said her husband. "The man's become a positive menace to society! Public Enemy Number One!"

"Skipper, we've got to do something!" cried Mary Ann.

"Skipper?" said Ginger, with a slight note of fear. "I think they're serious!"

There was a pause, as the Skipper was momentarily nonplussed. Then his laugh boomed out louder than ever. "Heh, heh, heh. You cards! You nearly had me going! Come on, folks, I didn't sign on yesterday! This is the Professor we're talking about! Come on, Ginger, let's get these roots and coconuts to the Professor. There's enough nuts out here!"

The Skipper opened the Professor's door for Ginger, who stepped nervously in. As for big sailor, he tossed down the basket of roots, swung the net of coconuts off his shoulder and let them rattle on the ground as he laughed his hearty laugh. "Professor, you just won't believe that bunch out there. They're acting more spooked than if they'd seen the Flying Dutchman! I never knew they had it in them! Who put 'em up to it? Howell?"

"Ah, Skipper! That's wonderful!" The Professor rushed to the coconuts with eager, outstretched arms. "Just the thing for my undetectable landmines!"

The Skipper pushed his cap back airily. "Oh, glad to be of help, Professor. I just can't get over the way they—" He suddenly stopped, as though he'd heard the air-raid siren at Pearl Harbour somewhere in the distance. "What was that?"

The Professor was admiring the coconuts as though they were Faberge eggs. "Absolutely undetectable! Because they'll contain no metal, you see?" He grinned up at the sailor and actress as he held up a prize specimen. "I'll split them in half, fill one half with a nitroglycerin gel, and then fit them back together with a weak paste. The moment someone walks on them – boom!"

Ginger's big eyes went wide with alarm and disbelief. As for the Skipper, he stared at the Professor for a moment before his brow clouded and he put his fists on his hips. "Landmines? Wait a minute... Professor, what's the big idea? If this is _your_ idea of joke and not Howell's, I'm going to be pretty sore. You, of all people! Scaring the others – especially the women – when there's work to be done!"

The Professor folded his arms and eyed them sternly. "I beg your pardon! Is that what you think I've been doing? Sitting about planning elaborate practical jokes? This is one of the most useful and practical devices I've ever invented!"

"Well..." The attack had left the Skipper completely outgunned. "Well, all right, Professor, I guess I could see landmines as a defense if headhunters ever showed up again, but what about us? We have to walk around on this island too, you know! Don't you think it's mighty risky? Why, my little buddy could smash himself to pieces tripping over a seashell, let alone a landmine!"

The Professor's eyes lit. "Ha ha! Our dim-witted companion would make the perfect test subject, wouldn't he? Kaboom! Splash! Nothing left but his sailor's cap!"

Ginger gasped in disbelief. "Professor, that's horrible! How could you say a thing like that?" Out of the corner of her eye, Ginger saw the Skipper move. Instinctively she grabbed the big man's arm, and felt the bunched biceps underneath.

"Listen, mister, that's not funny. Not one little bit."

"Skipper, he...he couldn't have meant it!" But the cruel smirk on the Professor's face told Ginger exactly the opposite.

The Skipper saw that look too, and his knuckles whitened atop his big fists. "Professor, I've looked up to you for years. You've got the smartest head of any man alive – but if you don't want some lumps on it you better not make one more crack like that about my little buddy."

"Brawn over brains, eh?" The Professor smirked again. "Pity your little first mate has neither. Hardly worth the waste of a good landmine, now that I think about it."

Ginger tightened her hold. It was a good thing.

"Why, you-I've _seen_ what's left of men who stepped on landmines, Professor! It's no joke!" The Skipper stared at the Professor as though he'd never seen the man before. "So the others were right! Professor, what's gotten into you? Have you lost your mind? Why would you want to invent a bunch of things like this?"

The Professor lifted his chin. "Why wouldn't I? Why shouldn't I make the best use of my genius?"

"'Best use'? That's a laugh! Inventing things that hurt people! I've had my bellyful of that kind of use, Professor! Every year, new and improved weapons that made more of my men die, and all the harder!" The Skipper shook his head in great disappointment. "I always thought you were different from that kind of scientist. I thought you wanted to make life better for us all, not worse!"

"Genius cannot be limited by the same petty moral concerns that plague the common herd! Ours is a high and lonely destiny," murmured the Professor with lofty disdain. "You wouldn't understand, Skipper. You've neither the wit nor the education – no more than has a has-been B-movie nobody," he added, with a sneer at Ginger that made the actress wince.

It was as if someone had waved a red flag in front of a bull; the Skipper practically pawed the ground and snorted. "That does it. Any smart-alec who'd take cheap pot-shots at a harmless little guy like Gilligan or a real lady like Ginger needs a lesson or two himself, and I'm just the fella who can teach you!"

The Skipper took a swift step forwards when suddenly the Professor hunched over, clutching at his head. "Unh...ow...no!"

The Skipper and Ginger's anger melted in horror and pity. "Professor, what is it? What's wrong?" Ginger cried.

The Professor heaved in great breaths, as though starved for air. His eyes beneath his clenching arms were wide with desperation. "Horrible...cruel...evil! Will not...do this...not...endanger lives!" He writhed, tearing at his hair. "Let me...go!"

Ginger tried to run to him but the Skipper caught her arm. "Stay back, Ginger. We don't know what's going on. Professor – Professor, what's the matter? You sick or something?"

The Professor looked up at them with eyes full of pain. "Skipper...Ginger... dear friends...please...help me!"

Now both of his friends sprang towards him, but he suddenly stood up, firm and in control again. Those eyes with their briefly rekindled warmth were cold once more. "Keep your distance, if you don't mind! There's no need for this emotional display. I'm perfectly all right."

The Skipper was flummoxed. "All right? Professor, you're—"

"Extremely busy!" The Professor drew himself up calmly and crossed his arms again "I have a great deal of work to do, and in spite of your disapproval, I am determined to see it through to its completion! Now if you don't mind, I prefer to continue my experiments undisturbed!"

For a moment the Skipper and Ginger stood still, not sure what to do. The Professor fixed them with a look that could have harpooned a whale. "Shall I phrase it in words of one syllable? Get-out-of-here! I-wish-to-be-a-lone!"

The Skipper took Ginger's arm. "Let's go, Ginger. We need to reconnoitre." He steered her out the door as she looked back at the Professor, her eyes as desperate as the Professor's had been a moment ago.


	6. Chapter 6

In his cave, Boris Balinkoff drummed the fingers of one hand on his knee and gnawed the fingernails of his other hand. "This is most disturbing, Igor! That my Jekyll and Hyde ray has unleashed the potential evil in the noble Professor is certain, but his loyalty to his friends threatens to undo all I have done!" He shook his head bitterly as his eyes grew distant with memory. "Friends! They are no better than those fools at the University of Bucharest. In the beginning they hailed me as a genius, as the most promising pioneer of neuroscience of my generation! But then when they saw the direction of my research, they denounced both me and my discoveries! Friends! Pah! They are like chains on a man of true genius!"

The little monkey, seated on a rock, rolled his eyes as though he had heard this tale many times before.

Balinkoff glanced up at the blinking lights of his tall computer. "And one of my greatest discoveries was how to induce certain forms of amnesia. Ah, yes, Igor! I should have thought of it before! I shall make some adjustments to my creation before I lure the Professor here, so that I can deal with the problem of his misguided loyalty!"

The Skipper's voice came over the speaker. "Listen, folks. The Professor's in real trouble and he needs our help. But we've got to keep our voices down in case he hears us!"

Balinkoff's eyebrows rose in alarm. "No! What if those fools stumble upon a solution? We must listen carefully, Igor!" He turned up the volume on the speaker.

Back at camp, the six castaways were all seated at the table, leaning in towards the centre and speaking in hushed voices.

"Help?" said Mr. Howell. "We'll be the ones who need help if this goes on much longer! What horrors is the fellow inventing now? Mustard gas? Deadly bacilli? A formula that changes gold into lead?"

"Worse," said the Skipper. "Undetectable landmines." He stabbed a finger at his first mate. "You watch your step, Gilligan, and that's an order!"

Gilligan gulped, instinctively lifting his feet up off the ground. "Aye aye, sir! But Skipper, what's happened to the Professor? Why's he changed?"

"He hasn't changed, Gilligan!" cried Ginger. "Our Professor's still under there – under whatever it is! He broke free for a moment and begged us to help him! You could see how much he was suffering!" She swallowed and wiped tears from her eyes. "It was like he was under a spell!"

"A spell!" whispered Gilligan. "Like when he was a zombie?"

The Skipper sucked in a deep breath. "Gilligan, that's it! The Whispering Mountain!"

Gilligan gulped. "Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes!"

"All right, just what is all this about the Whispering Mountain?" demanded Mary Ann, looking from one sailor to the other. "The two of you keep hinting at something – what is it?"

"It's haunted, Mary Ann," whispered Gilligan, shrinking as though he meant to dive under the table. "Evil spirits and ghosts and monsters! Things with no heads, things with two..."

"Ineffable twaddle!" said Mr. Howell.

Gilligan nodded. "And lots of those! And all because of the people who lived up there: they all went bad!" He gave a great shudder. "Especially at mealtimes."

"Why, that's awful, Gilligan! You know they say that manners maketh the man," said Mrs. Howell, shaking her head. "I imagine they forgot close their mouths while chewing and spilled their broth on the tablecloth and all sorts of dreadful things."

"Believe you me, Mrs. Howell, you don't want to hear the details," said the Skipper.

"But one day, they all just vanished without a trace! Even the Professor doesn't know what happened to them. And when he tried to find out, he disturbed whatever evil still haunts the place – and now it's taken him!"

The other castaways sat chilled. "But how are we going to help him?" asked Ginger, her voice hitching. "We always ask the Professor what to do – but now he can't even help himself!"

The Skipper patted her hand. "Don't worry, Ginger. The Professor may know a lot of things, but I'm the expert around here when it comes to native curses."

"You bet he is, Ginger," said Gilligan. "You should have heard him at Barnacle Bill's when he was losing at darts. He can curse like nobody's business! In Hawaiian, Portuguese, Japanese...pretty ripe stuff too!" He frowned for a moment. "How come you never cursed in English, Skipper?"

"Because you were there!" The Skipper fumed. "Who told you what I was saying, anyway?"

"Entwhistle and Wokowlski. They kept writing out translations on the paper napkins."

"They..." the Skipper's jaw fell. "Well, of all the-"

Gilligan nodded, wide-eyed with admiration. "I couldn't believe some of those doozies. Wow, Skipper. They could have blistered the veneer right off the bar!"

The Skipper looked around, his face turning a fine shade of tomato. "Ep...I didn't mean those kinds of curses, Gilligan! I meant hexes! Voodoo! Spells! I've been sailing around these islands long enough to know something about them!" He patted Ginger's hand again. "There, there, Ginger. We'll find out what's gotten to the Professor."

Ginger looked up at him and smiled gratefully through her tear-glittered eyes. "Oh, thank you, Skipper!"

The Skipper smiled and puffed out his chest like a frigate under full sail.

"The Skipper's right," added Gilligan. "He knows what he's talking about. He's been sailing these waters for years – since before I was born!"

The Skipper's smile faded. "You can pipe down now, Gilligan."

"Since before these savages even lived here!"

"Gilligan-"

"Probably even before they invented fire!"

"_Gilligan!_" The Skipper reached over and whapped Gilligan with his cap. "Leave the history lessons to the Professor! Let's get going."

"Going? Where?"

"To the Whispering Mountain, of course! To find out what's hexed the Professor and figure out how to cure him!"

Gilligan gasped. "Go up there again? But Skipper, what if—"

"My boy, what if the Professor finishes those inventions?" said Mr. Howell. "He'll booby trap the very ground under our feet!"

"And simply ruin my tea parties!" cried Mrs. Howell.

"Should we come too?" asked Mary Ann. "If we all looked, then—"

"No, Mary Ann." The Skipper shook his head, adamant. "It's too hard a trek. Besides, I need the rest of you to keep an eye on the Professor. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself or wander off somewhere before we can find a cure for him."

"Easier said than done, Captain. But we'll do our best," sighed Mr. Howell.

"You can count on us, Skipper," said Ginger fervently. "But please hurry!"

"We'll go inland the whole way to save time. Come on, Gilligan." The Skipper stood up. "It's back to the mountain for us."

In his cave, Boris Balinkoff switched off the speaker and bit his lip. "Igor, we are much nearer the castaways' camp than the mountain is...but we are right in the path they mean to travel! I dare not risk any interference in my plans until I have secured the Professor as my ally." He tapped a finger pensively against his chin. "Go after the Skipper and Gilligan, Igor. Do not let them see you. But if they come too close, do whatever you must to prevent them finding us." His huge eyes gleamed fiercely. "Do you hear? Anything!"

The monkey raised his skinny arms in a shrug.

Balinkoff rolled his eyes and tapped his foot in annoyance. "Oh, of course. You are no longer the great _big_ bully that you were. Take the monkey with you. Perhaps you can persuade him to cast a few stones at our unwanted guests!"

The little monkey crept off of his rock and beckoned to the tall man, who capered happily after him. Once alone, the mad scientist unscrewed a panel on his computer and began to tinker with the components. "You will understand, Professor. No sacrifice is too great in the pursuit of power. The man who would succeed must let nothing stand in his way: neither conscience nor loyalty nor love! I will cut them out of you, Professor! Once and for all!"


	7. Chapter 7

"This is not a good place," said Gilligan through his chattering teeth.

"You can say that again," said the Skipper.

Both men had finally reached the narrow, windswept plateau midway up the Whispering Mountain, where even the birds had fled away from the cold and the damp and the loneliness. Though the Professor claimed that a village had once stood upon this spot, nature had long since devoured it: not a single pole rose from the quivering ferns to mark where the bamboo huts had stood. All that remained of human habitation were the stones, dark with evil memory. Here and there squatted huge lava boulders etched with crude images of men brandishing blades over recumbent forms. In the centre of the village where the temple had stood lay a wide, flat, dark- stained stone slab and the bare, scorched earth of a firepit.

Gilligan remembered the day they had discovered these ancient ruins, cold and dripping in the chill rain. "Beats me why they'd want a picnic table in a place like this," he had said, pointing to the stone slab. "Did they have picnics here, Professor?"

"Of a sort," the Professor had replied dryly. "But I don't think you'd have wanted an invitation."

Gilligan's imagination had supplied the rest. Now, as he cowered near the Skipper, he desperately tried to push those grisly pictures from his mind. He wasn't helped by the presence of the mountain's guardians. "I wish they'dstop staring at us," he whispered, jerking his thumb backwards to where the ground rose towards the mist-shrouded summit. Gilligan didn't even dare to look behind him: once had been enough.

For ranging up the flanks of the mountain, grim and silent under the brooding canopy of the clouds, stood a host of great stone statues. Only heads, but twice the height of a man, they glowered towards the sea with sightless eyes. Some stood straight, some leaned as if under a mortal wound, and some had fallen over altogether. Gilligan had a sense that behind his back, they were moving.

"Kind of look like the ones I've seen on Easter Island," said the Skipper.

"You sure it wasn't Hallowe'en Island?" muttered Gilligan.

"Very funny."

Trembling, Gilligan hung on to the Skipper's arm as though it were a life-preserver. "The Professor said they put one of those creepy things up every time they sacrificed somebody."

"I know, Gilligan."

"And then, one day, the whole tribe just disappeared! With all their stuff left behind!" Gilligan fixed his big buddy with a terrible look. "I know what got 'em. _GHOSTS_!"

"GILLIGAN!" The Skipper jumped, nearly losing his footing on the wet ground. He grabbed Gilligan's arm and gave him a quick shake, just for good measure. "Cut that out, will you! Now come on! The Professor must have broken some kind of sacred taboo. There's got to be a clue here somewhere!"

"But what kind of clue, Skipper? What exactly are we looking for?"

The Skipper looked around. "Something that's been disturbed, I'd say. Happened all the time when I was sailing these waters. Somebody stumbled onto a place like this and moved something or dug it up or scraped it or took a piece for a souvenir. The spirits don't take kindly to that, let me tell you. Why, I remember once—"

"Skipper!" Gilligan pleaded. "Not right now, huh?"

"Oh...sorry, little buddy." The Skipper patted him on the back. "Just don't touch anything, okay? And watch your step. It's mighty slippery up here."

"Aye-aye, sir."

The Skipper pointed up towards the standing stones. "I'll start looking up there. You try further down."

Gilligan gulped and his eyes widened to twice their size. "What? You're gonna go up there and leave me down here all alone?"

"Gilligan, the sooner we find this thing, the sooner we can get out of this place!"

"B-but..." Though the first mate longed to be out of the cold, it was not just the cold that made his teeth chatter. "What if whatever made the Professor turn evil gets you? Then you'll come after me!"

"That won't happen, Gilligan. We've got these protective charms, remember?" The Skipper patted his blue shirt just under his collar. "And anyway, you can be darn sure I'm not going to do anything to get the spirits mad at me! Just see that you don't, either. I'll meet up with you here in a few minutes." The Skipper squeezed Gilligan's skinny shoulder. "Look: just do as I say, and you'll be fine."

Gilligan gave a reluctant nod and crept away towards the down-sloping ground as the Skipper trudged off in the opposite direction.

The wind was picking up, and Gilligan pulled his cap on tight to keep it from blowing away. He kept close to the scraggly trees, nervous of the sheer escarpment left by a landslide a little further down where one wrong step could send him to his doom. Now the wind hissed like whispering voices as the grey hood of raincloud moved slowly down the mountain and the rain began to fall. Gilligan shuddered as the whipping fronds clawed at his neck and face like the cold fingers of the dead.

"_SHRIEK!_" The cry sounded right in his ear. Gilligan leapt three feet straight up and frantically grabbed a tree-trunk to keep from pitching down the mountainside.

He dragged his wet bangs out of his eyes and stared around the rain-and-windswept slope. When he saw what had made the sound, he swallowed his heart and forced it back down into his chest. Clinging to a nearby tree was the little brown, black-clad monkey he had seen the previous day. It chattered eagerly to him, waving its wrinkled hand as if in beckoning. Gilligan heaved a great sigh of relief, and then stared. "Hey – you again? What are you doing up here? And where did you get those—"

Suddenly a tall, horribly familiar shape loomed up out of the bushes and shocked Gilligan's heart back into his mouth. He let go of the tree. "What the—aaaah!"

He fell.

For a moment the world twisted as the sky and the earth switched places in a wild kaleidoscope of grey and green. Nightmarish seconds later Gilligan felt the ground vanish from beneath him, and he flung out an arm to claw frantically at the edge. Clinging desperately, he swung and dangled at full arms-length against a nearly perpendicular wall of rain-slicked, ancient lava. Gilligan groped wildly with both hands now, his fingers gouging into the ground, but the thin, muddy soil beneath the plants squished like stale porridge. He scrabbled with his feet at the rock wall, but his wet sneakers slipped and slid along its face. In a mad moment he looked down, down, hundreds of feet down the sheer cliff wall to where the sea roiled and heaved.

"_Skipper!_" Gilligan screamed, the sound ripping from his throat. "_Skipper, help me!"_

Some near-lucid corner of his brain told him that the Skipper was too far away to hear him above the noise of the wind and the rain. He screamed anyway. _"Skipper! Hurry!"_

His feet slithered on the wall; beneath his grasping fingers mud squelched and roots snapped. Gilligan sucked in a horrified breath as the force of gravity won, and he plunged.

One swift screaming second of weightlessness later... came the hand.

It grasped his wrist like an iron band, then hauled straight upward. Eyes clenched shut, Gilligan felt himself drawn up as effortlessly as he might pull a fish from the water. Then the ground was blessedly solid underneath him again and large, warm arms were around him. Gilligan sank against a broad chest, somehow remembering to breathe again. Shivering, he clung to that chest, almost afraid to open his eyes and find that he was really dead. "Oh, thank you, Skipper," he whispered. "I thought I was a goner!"

He was expecting, "That's okay, little buddy," or "Take it easy, pal," or even, "You numbskull! How did you get yourself into this mess?" But all that mattered was that the Skipper was there.

"Ooh Ooh," said the Skipper.

Gilligan frowned. That didn't sound much like the Skipper, either angry or relieved. He opened his eyes, looked at the chest he was hugging and frowned still further. The Skipper hadn't been wearing a black sweater that day. He didn't even own a black sweater.

"Ooh?" Nope. Definitely _not_ the Skipper.

At last Gilligan looked up into the face of his rescuer. Grinning down at him was a cross between a shaven gorilla and a back-alley hoodlum. Aghast, Gilligan screamed for the second time in minutes. "_Aaaagh!_"

Alarmed, the tall man let go of him as Gilligan scrambled backwards up the wet slope, staring in horror. "_Igor!_" He barely registered the little monkey crouching next to the man.

But at the sound of the name the little monkey chattered wildly and jumped up and down, gesturing to himself. The tall man, still kneeling on the ground, scratched his head clumsily. Rising on his knuckles, he began to creep cautiously towards the beleaguered first mate.

Gilligan was still crawling backwards, too scared to get up. "_Skipper!_" He screamed again. "_Skipper, where are you?_" He braced himself as the tall man gained on him. "You stay back, Igor! The Skipper'll be here in a minute, and he'll tear you apart!"

The monkey looked around nervously. The man, meanwhile, made soft "ooh ooh" sounds as he stopped and stared for a moment at the swaying ferns. He cocked his head to one side, plucked a wriggling grub from a leaf, and after examining it for a moment, popped it into his mouth and swallowed.

Gilligan grimaced in disgust. "Yech – what's the matter with you? Why are you making like a monkey?"

The little monkey was fairly bouncing up and down now, pointing wildly to himself and to the man.

The man, meanwhile, had found a loose stone to play with. He tossed it gleefully over the edge and clapped, gibbering, as at a great joke. At last he hunkered down, scratched under his armpits, and hooted.

Glligan stared at him, stared back at the monkey, and his eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, my gosh, I get it...you aren't making like a monkey - you _are_ a monkey! Dr. Balinkoff and his crazy cabinets! He did this to you! He switched your mind with this monkey's!"

The monkey smote his forehead with his paw as though to say, _Finally!_

Gilligan stood up slowly, heartbeat and breathing finally slowing to normal, and smiled at the man. "And you saved my life just now! My gosh...thanks, Igor! I mean, uh...Monkey! Thanks a lot!" He held out his hand to the man who palmed it happily, grinning a wide, slightly slack-jawed grin.

Gilligan gave him an awkward pat on the arm, then crouched down again to look at the little monkey. "Wait a minute – Igor, if you're here, then Balinkoff's here! What's he doing here? Why'd he do this to you? What does he want with us?"

Suddenly they heard a voice wail with all the despair of the mountain's ghosts. "_Gilligan!_"

Gilligan jumped before he realized whose voice it was. "Over here, Skipper!" he called, looking around.

The Skipper looked like his own ghost as he came looming up out of the mountain rain. "Little buddy, thank goodness! I heard you scream just now and thought you'd gone over! What – " Now the Skipper saw the tall man and recognized him. "What the – Get behind me, Gilligan!"

Gilligan yelped as the Skipper grabbed his arm and yanked him back so powerfully that the first mate belly-flopped into the ferns. The Skipper tensed, fists clenched, as he faced the man in the black sweater. "Igor! What're you doing back here? What've you done to my little buddy? Just try laying a hand on him again!"

In a flash the tall man scrambled around between the Skipper and the fallen Gilligan, shrieking and spitting. Snatching up leaves and chunks of mud, he flung them at the Skipper with a vengeance. "Hey, what's the big idea?" yelled the Skipper as he ducked. "Stand up and fight like a man, you big ape!"

Gilligan sputtered, spitting ferns. "That's just it, Skipper!" he called from the ground. "He's not a man – he _is_ a big ape! He's a monkey!"

"What?" The Skipper flung up his arm as a flying clod knocked his hat askew. "Hey, cut it out, will ya?"

Gilligan scrambled to his feet and touched the crouching man gently on the shoulder. "Hey, little pal, it's okay! The Skipper wasn't trying to hurt me. He's my big buddy!"

The tall man looked curiously at him. "Ooh ooh?" he said.

"Yeah." Gilligan grinned. "His bark is worse than his bite."

"Gilligan, what in the name of the seven seas is going on?"

The tall man looked up at the Skipper and cocked his head. "Ooh?"

"What's the matter with this wiseguy? Why doesn't he talk?"

"He can't! Like I said, Skipper, he's a monkey! Look!" Gilligan plucked another grub off a leaf and handed it to the tall man, who munched it happily.

The Skipper grimaced and shook his head. "I don't believe it!"

"Believe it, Skipper! Dr. Balinkoff did it to him! Remember how he could switch minds?"

"Oh, yeah!" The Skipper pushed up his cap until the rain spattered in his eyes, then pulled it back down again. "That machine he had in his laboratory!"

Gilligan pointed to the little brown monkey. "And this monkey over here is Igor!"

The monkey nodded, keeping a wary eye on the Skipper. The Skipper fixed the monkey with a wary look of his own. "Well, just to be sure...if you're Igor, hold up three fingers."

The monkey sighed and held three skinny digits in the air.

The Skipper goggled. "It is Igor! So that's why he's got those clothes on!" The Skipper suddenly remembered something. "Hey, wait a minute: he's the one that bit you, isn't he?"

"Yeah. Hey, yeah!" The first mate scowled and favoured his hand. "What's the big idea, Igor? That hurt!"

The monkey shrugged and hung its head.

"Now hear this, Igor. You bite him or anybody else, and I'll forget that I don't clobber little guys!"

"Oh, forget it, Skipper," said Gilligan. "I wouldn't be in such a great mood either if somebody'd made a monkey out of me."

"Well...I guess not. And what about him?" The Skipper eyed the human form of their old enemy. "Seems pretty wild. Is he okay?"

"Okay? I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for him!" Gilligan pointed to the treacherous edge. "I did go over the cliff a minute ago, but he pulled me up! He saved my life!"

"You _what?_ And he-" The Skipper saw the two red scars of torn up soil that vanished over the brink of the precipice. Swallowing hard, he blinked through the rain at his first mate, then reached slowly out to grasp the thin arm beneath the sodden red sleeve. "Oh, my gosh...you..."

The crouching man, now holding Gilligan's hand as a small child might hold his father's, peered up at the Skipper. He reached up a large hand and touched the Skipper gently on the arm. "Ooh ooh?"

The Skipper swallowed again before taking the limp hand and shaking it. "Th-thanks...thanks, pal," he said in an unsteady voice.

Smiling, Gilligan squeezed the tall man's other hand. "Yeah. Thanks!"

Forgotten on the sidelines, the little monkey blew a most unsentimental raspberry. Gilligan and the Skipper looked up. When he saw that he finally had their attention, the monkey jerked his thumb towards his chest.

Gilligan shrugged at the Skipper. "Guess he's sore 'cause we forgot about him." He turned back to the monkey. "So why'd Balinkoff do this to you anyway, Igor? Was he sore at you?"

The little monkey nodded and folded his arms in an angry pout.

"Gosh...all I get is a bop on the head. I'm sure glad you don't have any crazy cabinets, Skipper!"

"Wait a minute..." The danger to Gilligan had all but eclipsed the problem of the Professor; now the Skipper's eyes grew wide. "This is what we've been looking for, Gilligan! The clue to what happened to the Professor! Boris Balinkoff and his weird science!"

Gilligan's eyes flashed. "You're right, Skipper! It all makes sense now! He must have done something to make the Professor turn evil!" He paused, shaking his head. "But why would he want to do something like that?"

The monkey crossed his arms in front of himself and shook his own hands.

The Skipper gasped. "A handshake...you mean Balinkoff wants the Professor on his side? As in partners?"

Gilligan stared in horror. "Partners! The Professor and Balinkoff? That means that...the poison medicine..."

"The landmines...who knows what awful stuff they could come up with if they put their heads together! Gilligan, we've got to stop this! We've got to tell the others!" The Skipper was about to start down the mountain when the monkey caught his trouser leg and gestured urgently.

"What is it, Igor?" asked Gilligan.

Igor picked up a pebble and held it in the air for them to see. He placed it beneath a bush and chattered at it as the Skipper and Gilligan watched in confusion. Then Igor raced away a few steps, cupped his hand to his ear as though listening, and nodded. At last he scrambled back and picked up the pebble again, pointing to it.

"What's he mean, Skipper?" asked Gilligan, perplexed. "We talk into a pebble and somebody hears us?"

"Oh, that's impossible, Gilligan," the Skipper murmured, and then the light dawned. "Wait a minute – now I get it! Balinkoff's bugged our camp!"

"What? There's lots of bugs at camp!" Gilligan scowled. "I hate the green ones with big yellow wings."

"Gilligan, you numbskull, I'm not talking about insects! A bug is another name for a hidden microphone!"

"Oh!"

"Exactly! Who knows how long he's been listening in on us!" The Skipper fingered his rain-beaded chin in thought. "We'll have to be really careful! And we'll have to find some place that he can't overhear us!" He turned to Igor. "Now what if we-say..." he suddenly paused and fixed the monkey with a suspicious stare. "Why'd you tell us that, anyway? You work for that nut! How do we know we can trust you? How do we know this isn't some kind of a trap?"

The little monkey pointed to himself and the tall man and whined piteously. He threw his arms up in the air, as though he wished to somehow grow taller.

Gilligan crouched down in order to see eye-to-eye with the little simian. "Hey, I get it, Skipper. He wants his own body back! And you don't trust Balinkoff, do you, Igor?"

The monkey shook his head vehemently. The tall man, meanwhile, was stripping the leaves off a nearby bush and trying to gum them down.

The Skipper nodded. "So you'd be willing to double-cross him if we promised to turn you back into a man?"

"I just know the Professor could do it – when we get him back," added Gilligan.

The little monkey reached out to clasp the two sailors by the hands and give them both a hearty shake. "That's good enough for me!" said the Skipper. "Now - what about the lagoon? Any bugs there?"

"Are you kidding, Skipper?" Gilligan's eyebrows buckled. "There's moths and mosquitoes and dragonflies—"

"Gilligan!"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry."

The Skipper turned back to the little monkey, who shook his head. "No, huh? Then that's where we'll make our plans." He took one last look up through the veils of rain to where the mountain's sinister stone guardians kept their vigil. "We've got what we came for, little buddy. Let's get out of this place, once and for all!"


	8. Chapter 8

At the castaway's camp, the Professor was sitting in his hut moodily twirling one of his tiny tracking transmitters with a pair of tweezers. "Well...does it really matter whether or not they approve of my inventions? What do any of them know? 'I thought you were different from that kind of scientist!' Hmmph! If all the great scientists of the world were as fearful of discovery as you, Skipper, we'd be back in the Stone Age without any fire! But then what can one expect from a grown man who's afraid of native tiki carvings and puts his faith in magic charms?"

Absently the Professor popped the transmitter into his breast pocket and picked up an empty coconut shell that lay on his work table. "Not to mention a man who would hire a credulous, clumsy buffoon who destroys my experiments virtually by looking at them! Who eats my formulae and moves my measuring sticks! Who once had the temerity to suggest that _I _had had a dumb idea! Idiot! Or to use a precise scientific term, pest!"

He ran his thumb along the husk of the coconut shell, his brow growing darker. "And that farm girl, whose only exposure to education was probably in a one-room schoolhouse! She actually had the nerve to try to advise me how to converse with a fellow scientist! 'Maybe you could use crib notes!' Me, a Professor with six degrees! To whom did she think she was speaking?"

The Professor flung the shell down and watched it rattle across the dirt floor. "And then those wealthy windbags whom we daren't even address by their given names!" His lips curled in a supercilious sneer. "_Thank you, Thurston! Lovey!_ An egghead, am I? Well, I will not be intimidated by their wealth! I've had to work for everything I've achieved...not like that pompous pair, born into privilege!"

Now he glanced at his chemical experiments and saw the rack of test tubes Ginger had placed there the night before. "And that woman is the most infuriating of them all!" he fumed. "Completely fickle! One minute praising me, and the next, 'Oh, Professor, that's horrible! How can you say a thing like that!' The next moment she'd probably ask me what I thought of her dress! Women! How can you build on such a quicksand?"

The Professor threw his hands in the air as though trying to fend off a cloud of buzzing insects. Then all at once he clamped his hands over his head as he grimaced in pain. "No," he moaned. "I know I've thought these things...but only in my darkest moments! They're not my true feel—aaagh!" He gave a great, terrible shudder, and then sat up again, the sneer returning to his face. "Friends! Pah! They're like chains on a man of true genius!"

"I could not agree more, my dear Professor," purred a foreign-sounding voice.

The Professor blinked. He looked around in confusion, and even peered beneath the table. There he caught sight of a tiny microphone and speaker, not much larger than his tracking device. Unhooking it from its resting place, he held it up to the light. "What is this? Who are you?"

"An ally, Professor," intoned that accented voice. "One who can rescue you from the purgatory of this island, and make you one of the most powerful scientists who ever lived! All you must do is come and find me – alone."

Outside, Mr. Howell and the women were seated at the communal table, anxiously watching the Professor's door.

"Maybe we ought to check on him again," whispered Mary Ann.

Mr. Howell looked at his Bulova watch. "It's only five minutes past the last time I checked on him, Mary Ann, and he all but threw me out! He's done everything but put up a do-not-disturb sign!"

"But he might be in pain again," said Ginger, her long fingers tensing as she held them clasped in front of her. "I'll never forget how he looked."

"Perhaps we could peek through the window, Thurston," whispered Mrs. Howell. "Though it is such bad manners!"

"Oh, I wish the Skipper and Gilligan would hurry!" said Mary Ann. "This is awful, not knowing what to do or how to help!"

"Aha!"

They all jumped as the Professor's door suddenly swung open and the Professor stepped out, his face pale with excitement. "All of you! Come in here at once! I'm in contact with civilization! We're going to be rescued!"

Eight astonished pairs of eyes locked on him. "I say, Professor," gasped Mr. Howell. "You can't be serious!"

"I am indeed! I just repaired the transmitter and spoke with a nearby Navy destroyer. I gave them our position and they're on their way!"

Mr. Howell and the women did not at once leap to their feet with joy; instead, they stared at each other with worried eyes and furrowed brows. Then Mr. Howell gave a surreptitious nod and exclaimed with theatrical grandeur, "Uh, well done, Professor! Well done, old man! We knew you'd find a way to save us one day!"

Ginger picked up the cue first. "Th-that's wonderful, Professor! When will they get here?"

"Imminently!" The Professor pointed to their huts. "You'd all better get packing!"

"Oh, dear. Do you think they'll have room for all of our things?" asked Mrs. Howell. "I shouldn't want to leave all of our quaint bamboo furniture behind. It would go so well in our house in Palm Beach."

_I don't believe him, my dear!_ mouthed Mr. Howell. "You must let me see how you did it, Professor! I'm simply fascinated to see how you technical chaps manage this sort of thing."

The Professor flashed him an overly eager smile. "Be my guest," he said, gesturing towards his door.

When the others came creeping cautiously in, the Professor pointed to the old familiar case of the Minnow's transmitter, long since relegated to fruit-container duty after Gilligan had broken the Minnow's transmitter twice. He stepped back, making space for them all to gather around his work table, then stepped towards the door. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm just going to nip over to the Skipper and Gilligan's hut to get the Skipper's charts. I want to be certain that those co-ordinates I gave the navy are accurate."

They nodded a little uneasily as he slipped out.

"He seems all right, Mr. Howell," said Mary Ann. "Do you think it could be true? Could he really have fixed the transmitter after all this time?"

"Oh, Thurston, wouldn't it be wonderful?" Mrs. Howell gushed, as her husband offered her the chair in front of the equipment-covered table. "To return to civilization! The ballet! The opera! The debutante balls!"

Mr. Howell smiled in spite of himself. "The Harvard Club! The steam-room! The golf course!"

"The farm! The horses! The wide-open fields!" said Mary Ann.

"The studios and the stages!" murmured Ginger. "And the hospitals," she added after a moment.

"The hospitals?" Mrs. Howell repeated. "Why, Ginger, what makes you say that? Not thinking of a change of career, are you?"

"No, Mrs. Howell. I was only thinking of..." She trailed off and quickly grasped the case's handle. "I can't wait any more. I want to see this for myself!" With a swift motion Ginger yanked up the case, and a moment later gasped in dismay. What she had uncovered was a tangled mass of crushed, mangled parts that looked more like a dead creature than a working machine.

"The Professor spoke to the Navy with this?" said Mrs. Howell. "It looks positively ghastly!"

Mr. Howell picked up the one recognizable component – the microphone – and the entire apparatus collapsed in a little cloud of metallic dust. "He never contacted anyone, Lovey! This thing is utterly worthless! The Tate wouldn't even accept it as a piece of modern art!"

"Oh, no! Do you suppose the Professor really did believe he got it to work?" gasped Mary Ann. "That would mean he's even worse off than we thought!"

Mr. Howell shook his head. "No, Mary Ann. He was too eager to bring us in here – even after he'd insisted upon working alone. No, there was method in his madness." He shot a look towards the door and clenched his fist. "Why, that cunning charlatan! I do believe he's given us the slip!"

The millionaire raced to the door but Ginger beat him, shoving the door so hard it snapped on its bamboo hinges and nearly hit poor Mr. Howell as it came sailing back. "Professor! Professor!" she cried. She rushed to the crew's hut and burst inside, but found it empty. Frantic, she raced back out again, rushing past the Howells and Mary Ann to the edge of the jungle, her long red hair flying about as she whipped her head around, trying to figure out which of the jungle trails the Professor might have taken. "Professor, let us help you! Don't do this! Please!"

She dashed a little way up one of the trails, vainly searching for any telltale hint of his pale shirt in the leafy, shadowy depths. There was none. "Professor! Professor!"

A pair of very large hands gently caught her arms from behind. Ginger whirled to see the man she was the second gladdest to see.

"_Oh, Skipper!_" She clung to his arms. "Skipper, he's gone! The Professor's gone!"

"What?" The big sailor stepped back a little, staring at her. "Take it easy, now, Ginger. What do you mean, gone?"

The Howells and Mary Ann came hurrying up. "The bounder tricked us, Captain. He's mad as a March hare, and he's just vanished into this overgrown warren!"

"Now just hold on a minute, Mr. Howell. The Professor's not crazy." The Skipper smiled kindly at Ginger and gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. "And he's not evil either. Not by a long shot."

Ginger looked up at him, hope warring with despair in her eyes. "Then what's going on, Skipper? Did you find out anything on the mountain?"

"Look, I can't tell you now. Gilligan's going to meet us at the lagoon. He's got something to show you. Then I'm sure you'll understand a lot better."

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Howell. "The poor boy hasn't got bitten again, has he?"

"Oh, no." The Skipper grinned. "Nope. This time, it's going to be a case of the biter bit."


	9. Chapter 9

"Captain, what's the meaning of all of this infernal shushing? And why are we taking a guided tour in the middle of a crisis?"

"I'll explain in a minute, Mr. Howell." The Skipper had shepherded the millionaire and the women to the edge of the green-fringed lagoon. "All right: it should be safe to talk now." He looked over his shoulder, as if to make sure. "Now: what became of the Professor? You four were supposed to keep an eye on him!"

"And so we did, Captain, but the Professor's as wily as he is wicked. Almost as cunning as a Howell!" Mr. Howell's heavy eyebrows leapt as high as his stocks at the very thought. "He finagled us into believing he'd made contact with civilization, and then when we came in to look at his travesty of a transmitter, he made his escape!"

"Yeah - it was an act worthy of an Academy Award! Not like the Professor at all," said Ginger sadly. "But Skipper, why couldn't we have told you all this back at camp? Why wouldn't you let us talk?"

"And where's Gilligan?" asked Mary Ann, looking anxiously around. "You said he was going to meet us here and explain everything. Is he all right?"

"Oh, he's fine." The Skipper gave her a reassuring smile. "But you see, he's got two friends with him who don't move so fast, so he's got to make sure they keep up."

"Two friends?" exclaimed Mrs. Howell. "Captain, the dear boy's the most amiable soul in the world, but who could he find on this island to make friends with? We're exclusive enough as it is!"

"Egad," said Mr. Howell, "he hasn't invited some headhunting savages along, has he? I know the lad's awfully trusting, but really!"

Just then the foliage rustled at the edge of the jungle, and they all saw the familiar flash of red and white. "There he is!" Mary Ann's face lit, but then she shaded her eyes, frowning. "But... I don't see anybody with him!"

When the bushes parted and the little monkey emerged in front of Gilligan, Mr. Howell and the women heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness! Not wild natives. Wildlife! We should have known," chuckled Mr. Howell. "Our own Dr. Dolittle always did treat all creatures great and small as human. But who's the other—oh, Heavens to Frankenstein's Monster!"

Mrs. Howell shrieked and seized her husband's arm; the girls screamed and hid behind the Skipper. "Gilligan, watch out! Behind you!" cried Mary Ann.

For behind Gilligan, clutching him by the hand, crept a man in black who looked like Bigfoot with a buzzcut. At the sound of the women's screams the man cowered behind Gilligan, chattering and shrieking. With a groan, the little monkey rolled his eyes and brusquely gestured at the man to come out. Meanwhile, Gilligan fished a banana out of his back pocket and handed it to the man. "It's okay, little fella. They won't hurt you. It's just that you don't know how ugly you are now!"

The monkey snapped at Gilligan, who jumped and smiled nervously. "Oh – sorry, Igor! But you gotta admit: you are a whole lot cuter this way."

Mr. Howell and the women stared at the unlikely threesome. "It-it _is_ Igor!" gasped Ginger. "I'd never forget that face...or that body! I've been closer to it than anybody! Ugh!" The actress momentarily shuddered as though covered with ants. A moment later she recovered herself. "But what's he doing here? And why's he acting so strange?"

"Because Igor's not in this body: he's in that one," Gilligan explained, pointing at the monkey. "Dr. Balinkoff switched them. Balinkoff's here on this island!"

"Oh...!" gasped the Howells and the girls as comprehension dawned.

The Skipper nodded eagerly. "That's right! He's behind what's happened to the Professor! Looks like he's used some new scientific gadget to make the Professor turn evil!"

"And Balinkoff's bugged our camp, so we had to bring you all down here to explain things," Gilligan finished.

The castaways were a sea of consternation. "That fiend!" exclaimed Mr. Howell. "Why can't he leave us in peace?"

"Yes!" cried Mrs. Howell. "The man behaves as though we were his private chinchillas!"

Gilligan did a double-take. "Don't you mean guinea pigs?"

"Please!" She peered superciliously at him through her lorgnette. "Not for a Howell."

"I knew the Professor couldn't have meant to dream up those awful inventions," said Mary Ann. "How did Balinkoff ever think we'd believe it?"

"He just doesn't know our Professor, Mary Ann," said Ginger before she turned to the Skipper, her manicured fingers flexing. "Oh! To think what that man's already put the Professor through – not to mention the rest of us! Where are they, Skipper? Just wait'll I get my hands on that pint-sized refugee from a horror movie!"

A bit taken aback, the Skipper pointed to the little monkey, who was grinning widely at Ginger's description of his master. "Ep...well, hold your horses there, Ginger. I was just getting to that. That's where Igor here comes in. He's going to lead us to Balinkoff's hideout so we can change the Professor back, and then we'll help Igor get changed back into a human. Igor, what'd Balinkoff use to make the Professor go bad?"

The monkey picked up a flat stone and pointed it at the castaways. Then he thumbed an imaginary button on the stone's surface.

"By Jove! Some kind of hand-held device!" exclaimed Mr. Howell. "Like the ones that opened our garage doors back home, Lovey!"

"Or the remote control on a toy car! Do you know how to work it, Igor?" asked Gilligan.

The monkey shook its head.

"Maybe he just doesn't know how to work it because he's a monkey," said Mary Ann. "But we could change Igor back into a human first. I still have some of the Professor's memories of how he worked those cabinets." Then she bit her lip. "But we'd have to get Igor back to Balinkoff's castle somehow!"

The monkey shook its head violently. He pointed to the stone again, then to himself and the tall man. Again he pressed the "button."

The Skipper blinked. "You mean this new gadget could switch you back too? It does both?"

The monkey nodded eagerly.

"Do you know how?"

The monkey threw the Skipper a sour look as if to say, _If I did, would I look like this?_

"Oh, brother. That's just great." The Skipper sighed. "Looks like rescuing the Professor is going to be tougher than I thought, if Balinkoff's the only one who knows how to work these gadgets. We'll have to get Balinkoff to turn the Professor back somehow, and even showing up at the hideout is going to be tricky enough as it is."

"How come, Skipper?" asked Gilligan, instinctively squeezing the tall man's hand a little tighter.

"Because Balinkoff's got this gadget, knucklehead! He could just aim it at us and 'pow'!"

"Pow?" whispered Gilligan.

"Yeah! 'Pow!'" The Skipper looked at the other castaways. "And we can't all go, anyhow."

"Why not?" Ginger demanded.

"Because if Balinkoff's listening to his bugs and no one's at camp for a long time, he's gonna know something funny's going on."

"Excellent point, Captain," said Mr. Howell. "Someone's got to stay here and provide conversation for Balinkoff to listen to. I'd say that should be the ladies: and of course, someone to lead and protect them." He cleared his throat conspicuously. "Someone educated and articulate, as well as brave."

"Why, that's you, Thurston!" exclaimed Mrs. Howell.

"Why, thank you, my dear! Right on cue!"

"Then who's going to convince Balinkoff to change the Professor?" asked Ginger. She grimaced, folding her arms. "I can't stand that little creep, but I could put on an act for the Professor's sake. Maybe I could—"

"Nothing doing, Ginger." The Skipper folded his arms too. "That's a last resort. Who knows what that guy might do to a woman? You're staying here."

"But, Skipper!"

"No buts, Ginger. That's final."

Ginger was about to fire back a reply when Mr. Howell grinned his most self-satisfied grin – and that was saying something. "Wait...I've just had the cleverest thought!"

"Oh, well done, darling!" cried Mrs. Howell, patting him on the cheek.

"Thank you, my dear." Mr. Howell's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know, this Balinkoff's quite the egotistical chap – absolutely full of himself. Don't quite understand where it all comes from...I mean it isn't as though he's a Howell, after all. But the fellow's conceit might just work to our advantage."

"How do you mean, dear?" asked Mrs. Howell.

"Well, Balinkoff is a master criminal as well as a genius, you see; he's got to keep everything he does a secret. This must be terribly frustrating to him, because he can't boast to anyone of his cleverness."

The Skipper leaned in, intrigued. "So what do we do?"

Mr. Howell's grin broadened. "There's an old tale from the Arabian Nights about a man who wants to trick an evil genie back into its bottle. The man simply bets the genie that the genie can't do it. Well, the genie is so bent on proving his power that he does squeeze himself back into the bottle – and then the man puts a cork in it! So you see, we simply play the same trick on Balinkoff."

"How do we do that?" asked Gilligan.

"We must get him to boast. Get him to show us exactly how the machine works." The millionaire tapped his cheek pensively. "Now, we'll need some pretext for one of us arriving at Balinkoff's lair: something that will prevent Balinkoff realizing that we're on to his dastardly scheme." His eyes fell upon the monkey. "By Jove, of course! Why can't our newfound ally here pretend to take one of us captive! Once that someone is taken to Balinkoff's lair, he can taunt Balinkoff into transforming the Professor back into his good self."

When his roving eyes fixed upon Gilligan, the first mate eyed Mr. Howell back again with none too friendly a gaze. "Oh, boy. I'm not gonna like this, am I, Mr. Howell?"

"But Gilligan, my boy, you're the perfect man for the job – the only man!"

"It figures!" Gilligan took a step back, and the tall man edged back with him. "Why me? Why always me?"

"Yeah, Howell," said the Skipper. "Seems to me you're the best man for the job. After all, you're the sneaky one."

Mr. Howell drew himself up. "I resent that, Captain! In any case, Balinkoff would hardly believe someone as clever as Thurston Howell the Third would let himself be captured. Gilligan is a far more likely candidate. Besides, the boy has the advantage of speed."

"What difference does that make?" demanded Gilligan.

"Why, my boy, even the headhunters can't get near you. If anything were to go wrong you could be off like the wind, and Balinkoff would never catch up with you!"

Gilligan still wasn't convinced. "What good's that gonna do me if Balinkoff zaps me before I can run?"

"Hang on, Gilligan," said the Skipper. "And you hang on too, Howell. I don't want my little buddy doing anything dangerous. I'll be the one who gets captured."

"And if Balinkoff turns his device on you, where will we be then, with both you and the Professor turned against us?" Mr. Howell countered. "At least if Gilligan were made evil, he'd be relatively harmless."

Gilligan folded his arms and glared at the millionaire. "I'm not feeling real harmless right now."

"My boy, you do me an injustice," said Mr. Howell gently. "Do you think I'd even suggest this if I believed there were any chance you might come to harm? Of course, we'll have the Captain follow you so that he'll be on hand if you need him."

"Oh. I like that idea a lot better," said Gilligan, relaxing a little.

"I do too," said the Skipper.

Mr. Howell stepped forward to take Gilligan's arm but jumped back a little at the sight of the crouching man in black, who momentarily stopped gumming his banana to growl up at the millionaire. "Don't you take that tone with me, sir! What are you, a Yale man?"

Gilligan shrugged apologetically. "He's just real protective of me, Mr. Howell."

Mr. Howell laughed and spread his hands. "Then there you are! Another point for our side! Don't you see, my boy? Your charm with animals has done it again! This frightful beast here won't allow Balinkoff to harm you. You'll have two bodyguards, with Balinkoff none the wiser!"

Gilligan looked down at the crouching man, who now held up half the banana in offering. "Uh...thanks, little fella. You have it." A slow smile broke over his face. "Yeah...I kinda see what you mean, Mr. Howell."

"It's for the Professor, Gilligan," Ginger pleaded. "He'd do it for you!"

Her words hit the young sailor like a broadside. He gasped, ashamed, and nodded. "You're right, Ginger. What was I thinking? Of course I'll do it. And I'll bring him back: I promise!"

Mr. Howell smiled. "Splendid! Now..." he looked at the Skipper, but pointed to the monkey. "He seems to understand English perfectly well. Can he talk?"

"Not a peep," said the Skipper.

"Ah, well. Pantomime will do just fine. Now see here, old man," and the millionaire addressed the small simian, "How much time do you think it would take for you and Gilligan to reach your master's lair? One hour? Two?"

Igor held up one finger. Mr. Howell nodded. "Then we'll have to buy Gilligan that much time. We'll have to create some sort of diversion."

"But how will we know Balinkoff can see it?" asked Mary Ann.

"He shan't need to. He'll hear it: as the Captain told us, our campsite is under surveillance. Very well, then: we'll give him something to survey. Ginger: as Andy Hardy used to say, we're going to put on a show!"

"A show? You mean singing and dancing?"

"No, no. Acting. We'll stroke that megalomaniac's ego until he's positively purring."

"Praise Balinkoff?" Mary Ann wrinkled her nose. "I'd sooner pet a wild boar. I couldn't think of one nice thing to say about him!"

Inspiration struck Mr. Howell again. "It'll be child's play, my dear. Just think of all the nice things you could say about the Professor – but use Balinkoff's name instead!"

Ginger brightened visibly. "Say nice things about the Professor! Now that's one scene where I don't have to act! I could say nice things about him in my sleep!"

"You have," said Mary Ann, looking innocently at some spot just above the trees.

Ginger blushed, then arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, I'll bet it's nothing to what I've heard you say in your sleep about—"

"What?" Mary Ann gasped. "I don't talk in my sleep!"

"Oh, no?" Grinning, the actress mimicked Mary Ann's perky tones. "'Oh, you're wonderful! You can hunt my butterflies anytime you want to!' And it gets better. 'You-"

"Ack! Ginger!" Mary Ann's eyes were huge. "Truce! Please?"

Ginger smiled. "Truce." And the two of them burst into giggles.

The others stared at them for a moment before Lovey turned and patted her husband's cheek. "Thurston, how brilliant!" she beamed.

"Please, my dear. I blush so easily. Well then, shall we have a brief rehearsal before the real thing?" Mr. Howell looked down at the crouching man. "And you pay attention too, young fellow," he admonished, wagging a finger. "You're our lucky ace in the hole!"

"More like a monkey in the middle," said Gilligan, taking a great, nervous breath. "I sure hope he does bring us luck."

As Mr. Howell took the women aside into a huddle, Gilligan whispered to the Skipper, "Butterflies?"

"What's that?" whispered the Skipper.

"Mary Ann liked Lord Beasley?" Gilligan shook his head in confusion. "He sure didn't seem like her type to me."

"Me either, little buddy," said the Skipper with an enigmatic smile.


	10. Chapter 10

At last the Professor emerged from the dense tangle of the jungle. On the other side of a small clearing was the vine-veiled entrance of a cave. "Aha!" he cried. "I knew my exceptional expertise in pathfinding would help me locate this cave!" He gave a sly chuckle as he looked back the way he had come. "Even I would never have dreamed how simple it would be to trick those fools! Now to meet my mysterious interlocutor and escape this island once and for all!"

"You have indeed found salvation, Professor Hinkley!" The vines parted as a stage curtain and out swept Boris Balinkoff like a Las Vegas entertainer. "You followed my directions perfectly! Welcome to my laboratory away from home!"

The Professor stared. "Good Heavens! Boris Balinkoff, the mad scientist! _You_ are my would-be rescuer?"

Balinkoff's face fell. "As I told that fool Gilligan – scientist, yes! Mad, no!" A manic giggle escaped him before he quieted. "A scholar like youself, Professor. A picker up of shells upon a great, unknown shore."

The Professor's eyebrow and upper lip curled upwards in unison. "Oh, good grief. I should have recognized that ridiculous comic operetta accent of yours when I first heard it in my hut!"

Balinkoff's mouth fell open, but no sound came out. The Professor carried right on.

"Well, what kind of _shells _are you dabbling in this time, Balinkoff? More rings that make people stumble about with blank looks on their faces and collect hoards of coconuts? Cabinets that make men mince about and women speak in baritones? No doubt you've invented a new and improved whoopee cushion and snake-in-the-peanut jar!"

For a moment Balinkoff's eyes bulged to nearly twice their size. He clenched his fingers and bared his teeth before he controlled himself with a great effort. "Why, you - you disappoint me, Professor! A man with as great a mind as yours - a scoffer like all the others! You do not even know what you owe to my newest invention! I have freed you from the tyranny of conscience, from the shackles of convention! With my Jekyll and Hyde ray, I have transformed you into the man you were meant to be: a man fit to work at my side!"

The Professor sniffed. "At your side? I assure you, Balinkoff, I've no time for such nonsense. I have a very rigorous schedule to follow as it is."

Balinkoff blinked. "Here?"

"Of course! Why, I haven't even begun my three hours of cataloguing the island's flora and fauna today."

"Cataloguing the island's..." Balinkoff's heavy eyebrows mirrored the island's pointed peaks. "Whatever for? How many kinds of bananas can there be on this ridiculous spit of sand?"

"Not to mention the myriad of inventions I have in development: useful inventions, not the jokeshop novelties you insist upon producing."

Balinkoff momentarily forgot his purpose as his great eyes threatened to pop out of his head. "Jokeshop novelties? And what of your coconut landmines? You assume every army in the world will have a ready supply of coconuts – even if they are stationed at the North Pole?"

"All the more brilliant! Who would suspect coconuts at the North Pole?" The Professor fished a black object the size of a small button from his breast pocket. "And this! Who would suspect this tiny transmitter! Just attach it to a man's coat, and you can follow him everywhere!"

"Of course! Until he takes off his coat! Or stumbles upon your unlikely cocktail of poison mushrooms and berries!"

"But how did you know about those?" The Professor's expression suddenly changed from surprised to scornful. "Oh. Naturally. If you're able to send crude broadcasts, then no doubt you have some elementary method of receiving as well. To what have you resorted this time? Using primitive listening devices in our huts and under our dining table like a spy in a dime novel?"

This time Balinkoff refused to rise to the bait. "You will find you have cause to thank me for them, Professor! Your friends very much disapprove of your new philosophy of science. They are conspiring to put a stop to your experiments and "cure" your newfound intellectual freedom!"

The Professor snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Those simpletons would never have the capability."

"Perhaps not: but they might inadvertently stumble upon the truth. The Skipper and Gilligan are even now looking for the source of your...transformation, but fortunately two of my assistants are watching them."

"Stumble is the operative word," sneered the Professor. "The Skipper and Gilligan are such incompetent buffoons they couldn't navigate in a bathtub, let alone an ocean. They could have sunk the Titanic without the help of the iceberg!" The Professor suddenly gasped and shuddered in pain. "No! _No!_ Not their fault! Good...men! My closest...friends!" After a few moments he stood straight again, shaking his head. "Good Heavens. What is the matter with me? These fits are getting worse!"

Balinkoff nodded. "How fortunate that I now have the means to alleviate them! Come, Professor. I have something better to show you than elementary bombs and bugs. Perhaps only seeing a work of true genius shall convince you!"

With a sweep of his arm Balinkoff parted the vines and turned to enter the cave. The Professor, who was still fingering his tiny tracking transmitter, gave it a whimsical flick towards the mad scientist's retreating back. With a slightly mischievous grin the Professor watched the transmitter disappear into the folds of Balinkoff's swirling opera cloak before the vines swung back into place.

The Professor followed him into the cave a moment later. At once the darkness of the interior eclipsed the brilliant sunlight, leaving the orange flickers of torches to provide a wan contrast. Balinkoff swept his arm towards his computer. "Behold, Professor! The marvel of our age! I cannot tell you how many trips it took in secret to bring these components here!"

The Professor made his "think mole" face. "Is this as far as technology has come in Eastern Europe? Why, in the U.S. we have toasters more sophisticated than this!"

Balinkoff stamped his foot. "You have not even seen what it does yet!"

"If your past exploits are any indication, I daresay the most practical use for this conglomeration of blinking lights would be as an entrance facade for a Funhouse."

Balinkoff drew his cape around himself as if it were a shield. "You see, and yet you do not believe! Very well, Professor. I shall convince you." He made a move towards some switches, when suddenly a breathy voice purred over the loudspeaker.

"I don't know what I ever saw in the Professor anyhow," intoned that smooth infusion of honey and ginger. "I'll tell you who's the most attractive man I ever saw: Dr. Boris Balinkoff."

Balinkoff froze, staring open-mouthed at the speaker, before he lit up as brightly as the computer. "Why – that is Miss Grant!"

The Professor was even more flabbergasted than Balinkoff. "What did she just say? Has she taken leave of her senses - mental as well as physical?"

"Those dreamy eyes and that chiselled jaw...that handsome physique...right out of a classic Hollywood romance! Mmmm, he just makes a girl tingle all over!"

Balinkoff beamed. His grin stretched like the Cheshire cat's as he straightened his vest and stroked his beard. "That beautiful actress! I had no idea!"

"And you don't know what a man with brains does to me," Ginger's sultry voice continued. "I love a man who can take control, no matter what the situation. Makes a girl feel so safe and protected. Makes her feel like she can trust him. Makes her feel like she could just...let go!"

"Yes, yes, by all means, Miss Grant!" cried Balinkoff.

"And best of all: he appreciates my mind too. I've never had a man appreciate me for that before."

Balinkoff looked puzzled for a moment. "I did not realize that I—but I suppose I must have. Miss Grant surely has a...very good-looking mind!"

The Professor blinked. "I'm not so certain she has any mind anymore!"

Suddenly a new voice came over the speaker. "Dr. Balinkoff has brains, all right. I've never met a man who knows so much! Golly, I wish I'd had a chance to have a teacher like him!"

"And now pretty little Miss Summers!" exclaimed Balinkoff. "Your little...how do you say it...girl-in-the-house-beside-yours!"

"And he's such a hard worker! Up at the crack of dawn, and keeps at it 'til late at night, until he makes sure the job's done. That's the kind of spirit my ancestors had when they settled the prairies. He's got the real pioneer spirit! The kind that makes you proud to be an American!"

Balinkoff adjusted his tie. "Of course."

The Professor shook his head, baffled. "But you're not even from—"

"The man's a hard worker indeed! And an innovator, by Jove! Franklin, Edison, why even Da Vinci pale before Dr. Boris Balinkoff!"

"Mr. Howell!" exclaimed Balinkoff. "The great captain of industry!"

"Franklin, Edison and Da Vinci?" echoed the Professor. "More like Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey!"

"Hush! Quiet, Professor!" Balinkoff leaned in towards the speaker. "Go on, Mr. Howell!"

"Yes, sir, by George! When we return to the mainland, I'd like to set that fellow up. Research laboratories all over the world, cutting edge facilities, highly trained staff. Why, the things that man could create! I'd pay him any salary he demanded, and every possible fringe benefit under the sun! I'd make him a partner! A man like him only comes along once in a lifetime!"

Balinkoff was now beaming so much that he lit up the whole cave. "You know, Professor, I may have underestimated your friends!"

"I may have _over_estimated them!" exclaimed the Professor. "Ginger, Mary Ann, Mr. Howell...normally far better judges of character, fools though they may be! What on Earth can have happened to them?"

"Oh, Thurston," came Mrs. Howell's voice, "You simply must entice him! By all means, pay him his heart's desire! Make him a gift of anything you please, as long as I can be certain to have a man like Dr. Boris Balinkoff to grace my dinner parties and salons! I'll be the envy of Society!"

"Mrs. Howell! The international hostess and patroness of the arts! To be her honoured guest at her lavish functions!" said Balinkoff.

"Perhaps her next social engagement is a sideshow," muttered the Professor.

Mrs. Howell continued. "He has the natural grace and sophistication of the old European nobility. The same courtesy and chivalry. The ability to converse with practised ease about art, music, literature, philosophy: a true Renaissance man!"

"I'd say more like Neolithic Man," quipped the Professor.

"Professor!" Balinkoff shook his head with dignity. "Jealousy is a terrible thing."

"Ah," sighed Mr. Howell, "I'm afraid, ladies, that we are simply building castles in the sky. He is gone from us forever."

"No!" cried the three ladies in voices of despair.

"Alas, yes," said Mr. Howell. "Take him all for all, he was a man. We shall not look upon his like again."

"Oh, good Heavens! If I hear any more of this I believe my cerebral neurons will implode!" The Professor reached over and snapped off the speaker. "What witchery have you performed on them, Balinkoff? Created a ray that inhibits all but basic brain functions?"

Balinkoff drew back, stung. "I have done nothing to them, Professor. What you heard was their genuine appreciation of my talents."

"What I heard was a greater load of rubbish than the Cleveland city dump!"

"You simply cannot accept the existence of a rival genius." Balinkoff drew himself up to his not very impressive height. "I feel pity for you. 'Such men are never at heart's ease while they behold a greater than themselves.'" He paused for dramatic effect. "As William Shakespeare said in _Hamlet_!"

"_Julius Caesar_."

Balinkoff bristled. "If I say it is _Hamlet_, it is _Hamlet_! You insufferable know-it-all!"

"I do not believe there is room in this cave for the three of us!"

"The three of us?"

"You, myself, and your wildly inflated ego!"

"There is hardly room on this entire island for an ego the size of yours!" yelled Balinkoff. "How is it you have not been rescued yet? The airplane pilots must see your colossally swollen head from 30,000 feet!"

"Then perhaps you may desire another partner," the Professor said coldly. "I shall complete my work on my experiments myself!"

"Then go!" screamed Balinkoff. "Go and test them on your friends! I am astonished that you have any!"

"Test them on my—" Suddenly the Professor's eyes dilated wildly and he clutched at his head, nearly tearing out his hair. "My friends! My good, dear friends! _I will not give in to this! I will not!_" For a few moments he writhed as in a terrible, all-out struggle, until at last he gave an inarticulate cry and slumped to the ground.

Balinkoff drew back in surprise, his hand to his lips. "Professor? Professor?" He crouched down, carefully examining the unconscious man for vital signs. At last he sat back and sighed with relief. "So...he is well. But this cannot be allowed to continue!" The mad scientist grasped the lapels of his vest and straightened them, as though straightening his own thoughts. "How foolish of me! I nearly allowed my formidable temper to overcome my excellent judgement! Of course my experiment has not gone wrong: it is the Professor's memory of his friends that causes him to antagonise me! Whether through jealousy or loyalty, their influence will continue to poison him against me! My amnesia effect will be none too soon!" He glanced up at his humming computer. "But once we leave this island, those other fools must never find this machine!"

Rising, Balinkoff took the pillow from his camp cot and tucked it beneath the Professor's head. "Rest there, my still-to-be partner. Shortly after you awaken, I will give you a second dose of my ray, with its new side effect. Then at last, you will belong only to me!"


	11. Chapter 11

Green-upon-green rioted in every direction: lush ferns, teeming leaves, snaking vines, shimmering bushes and soft, abundant moss. Mottled brown trunks and branches, thick as columns and sinuous as serpents, writhed amid the richness. Normally Gilligan would have been entranced by their beauty, but now he crept nervously forward, expecting a black-cloaked figure to come leaping out from behind every bush. Up ahead, the little monkey that was Igor stopped to paw aside some vines and find the white X chalked upon a trunk or stone. "I remember Hansel and Gretel left a trail too," Gilligan whispered to the tall man as they clambered over a huge moss-covered log that blocked their way. "They were going through a dark forest, and they found a gingerbread house and a nasty old witch..." The young sailor suddenly gasped and whispered nervously over his shoulder, "Skipper! You still back there?"

"Keep it down, will ya?" came the Skipper's urgent whisper from far behind them. "We're supposed to be sneaking in, remember? Not giving a twenty-one gun salute!"

"Oh yeah!" Gilligan's voice dropped to a fearful hush as he hunkered down. "Igor!" he hissed. "How close are we?"

The little monkey turned and held his index finger before his lips. Gilligan chewed his own lip and clenched his companion's hand. "We're almost there," he whispered. Then, in a stage whisper, "Stay back, Skipper, where they can't see you!"

"What?" whispered the Skipper, but the word was drowned out by the raucous call of a parrot shrieking in the treetops. He stopped to climb over the log, but he hadn't Gilligan's agility. It cost the big man a few grunts to finally haul himself over and a mighty "oof" as he landed heavily on the other side. Muttering one of the saltier sea-curses that he never let Gilligan hear, the Skipper stumbled to his feet, snatched his cap off the ground and jammed it on. At last, with an exasperated huff, he looked around.

All he saw was a dense wall of green and brown. There was no sign of Gilligan.

"Gilligan? Gilligan, little buddy!" he whispered desperately, afraid to call out lest he alert Balinkoff. "Of all the...where are you?"

There was nothing. Nothing but the hoots, chirps, whistles and gurgles of the living jungle. Though the air was warm and soft, the Skipper felt a sudden chill.

Then up ahead he suddenly saw splashes of red amid the green. "Gilligan!" the Skipper hissed and lumbered forwards, bursting through the ferns into a small clearing littered with fallen palm fronds. In his anxiety the Skipper charged ahead, ignoring the mental red alert that fallen palm fronds didn't usually all face the same direction. Just as he stepped on them, he saw that the red he had followed was merely the petals of a blood-red heliconia flower.

The carpet of fronds gave way underneath him, and the Skipper crashed down into a shallow pit, the fall knocking him out.

Up ahead, the monkey that was Igor heard the distant crash, and smiled.

"What was that?" whispered Gilligan, going to look around.

The monkey caught Gilligan by the hand and shook his head in warning. He held his finger to his mobile lips again, and beckoned on ahead. Gilligan nodded, and he and the tall man followed.

Igor still could not keep the smile from his monkey lips. The pit must have been left by headhunters long ago, but he'd had the feeling it could come in handy, and now it had. Everything was going exactly as he'd planned.

At last the mouth of the cave gaped ahead, its vines swaying in the breeze like a hula dancer's hair. "Hey...I sorta remember this," Gilligan whispered. "Like in a dream...I felt like some kind of robot!"

The little monkey had scampered over and pulled up a vine that lay on the ground. He motioned to Gilligan to get down, and then held his hands behind his back, like a prisoner.

Gilligan frowned and drew back a little bit. He whispered, "You want to tie my hands? Do you have to?" The monkey nodded again and pointed to the cave. The first mate gave a nervous shudder, and then steadied himself. "Well...I guess we've gotta convince Balinkoff that you caught me. And the Skipper'll help me out if anything goes wrong. Okay, Igor." He crouched down and crossed his wrists behind his back.

Beside them, the tall man watched, fingering his drooping lip in puzzlement, as the monkey jerked the vine knots. "Ow!" whispered Gilligan. "Take it easy, will you? Not so tight!"

The tall man growled softly. Ignoring them both, the monkey threw several loops of vine over Gilligan's head, binding his arms to his chest. Gilligan hissed again as the vines tightened. "All right! This oughtta convince him. Cut it out!" He stood to his full height as the monkey took up the last of the length of vine as a kind of leash.

Without warning, the tall man snatched it and bit down on the stringy plant. When the monkey slapped him, the tall man bared his teeth.

"Little fella! Leave it!" Gilligan whispered. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine."

The tall man frowned. "Ooh?" he said.

"Honest! Just leave it and play along."

Reluctantly the tall man let the vine go, but his hackles were still raised and he threw the monkey a soft snarl of warning.

Gilligan took a deep breath and lead the way, bowing his head as he passed through the curtain of hanging vines. Once he was a few steps inside, he paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. As he focused on the flaring torchlight and some blinking multicoloured lights in the corner, two voices called in chorus.

"Gilligan!"

He could see them both now. "Professor! Am I glad you're here!" He rushed forward a few steps, but a sudden painful jerk on his wrists brought him up short. "Ow! Cut it out, I said!" Suddenly Gilligan recognized the second figure, and drew himself up as if about to launch into his main song from the castaways' _Hamlet_. "Dr. Balinkoff! What have you done with the Professor?"

The Professor was sitting on the camp cot, looking a little woozy. Balinkoff, meanwhile, had swept to his feet, black cape swirling. "Igor! What is the meaning of this? I gave you no orders to take prisoners! The castaways are not to know of our presence here!"

The monkey pointed to Gilligan and then pointed outside. Recognizing his cue, Gilligan carried on with the script he'd rehearsed with Mr. Howell. "I got lost. The next thing I know, these two jumped me and tied me up! I knew you had to be behind it the minute I saw Igor—" he jerked his head at the tall man, then stopped. "I mean, Igor's body, anyway!"

The Professor rolled his eyes. "Turning men into monkeys! What next?"

Ignoring this, Balinkoff fixed his bright eyes on Gilligan as he stroked his beard nervously. "You wish me to believe that the other castaways do not know of my presence here?"

"Yeah! I mean...'cause they don't!" Gilligan gulped and tried to look defiant. "The Skipper thinks the Professor's under some native curse and he sent me to find some caves to see if I could dig up some charms and stuff."

"That is precisely what the Skipper would do," murmured the Professor, who had sat up and was now looking fixedly at Gilligan. "Superstitious fools, the pair of them. I believe Gilligan's telling the truth!"

"Thanks, Professor!" said Gilligan. Then I thought about it for a moment. "I think."

Balinkoff glanced momentarily at the Professor, then back to Gilligan. "That is most fortunate – though not for you, my young friend. I have no intention of letting anyone know my plans before I put them into operation: not even stranded castaways. Therefore, I cannot allow you to return to your friends."

Gilligan swallowed so hard his Adam's Apple bounced like a rubber ball. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

Balinkoff flashed him a most unpleasant smile. "There is that mountainside with its very steep drop..."

The Professor suddenly jerked sharply. "_No!_" he gasped.

Balinkoff stopped smiling as he observed the Professor's reaction. He backtracked quickly. "But... no. Death is such a waste. I can always make room for another slave in my castle. When we return to my island, I will transfer your mind – such as it is – into the body of one of my laboratory animals."

The Professor relaxed a little; Gilligan, a lot. "Oh," said the first mate. "Can I be the little dog, then? He was kind of cute." Gilligan suddenly frowned. "Hey, are he and the cat okay?"

Balinkoff shrugged. "Well enough. We surrendered them to the Humane Society. Too many...unpleasant memories."

"Oh, that's good," said Gilligan. "I felt kind of bad about that afterwards...for the dog and the cat, anyway. Come to think of it, how did you and Igor manage to get switched back after I switched you two with them?"

Balinkoff's features twisted into a Draculine grimace as he stroked his beard. "You do not do well to remind me of that, Gilligan. It took hours and several swipes to the nose to convince Igor to stop chasing me! Even now I still catch myself preening." Even as he spoke, the mad scientist snatched his hand away with a start and straightened his tie instead. "My cabinets had an automatic timing device. That was how Igor here managed to swap himself for Miss Grant without my knowledge." Now Balinkoff glowered at Igor. "And that is the reason for his current...situation. Igor is paying the price of disobedience. Once he is transformed back into a man, I trust he will have learned his lesson."

The little monkey bowed his head, but the corners of his lips were twitching.

"But for now, we must make haste," Balinkoff continued. "Your friends will soon note the absence of both of you! We must return to my island at once, and there, Professor, we will make plans for our dominion over the world!"

"You forget that I've not indicated that I'll join you," said the Professor haughtily.

"There, you see?" Gilligan's tone was full of scorn. "I could have told you the Professor'll never help you. I bet all that evil stuff he talked about back at camp was just an act! You couldn't make the Professor turn bad, no matter what you did!"

Balinkoff raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but I have, Gilligan. I have freed the Professor from that unfortunate inconvenience that unenlightened minds call a conscience. My device could turn any man from a Dr. Jekyll into a Mr. Hyde, and back again!"

"Prove it!" Gilligan snapped.

"I would prove it upon you, but an evil Gilligan might be even more destructive than a good one, and this I do not need. However, this may be the perfect time to demonstrate the newest ability of my invention."

"What's that?" asked Gilligan, instantly curious.

Balinkoff smiled evilly. "Now, when my device changes a man into what he is not, that man will develop amnesia. He retains his skills, but forgets everyone he ever knew, so that no conflicting loyalties will interfere with his plans."

Gilligan snorted. "You can't give somebody amnesia that way! I know: I've had it! You've gotta knock them over the head! Besides, you could never make the Professor forget me and the others. I don't believe you!"

"Then let me demonstrate, my friend."

"Go on! I dare you!" Gilligan gulped, suddenly realizing that what he was saying was very, very wrong. "Uh...wait a minute. No! Don't do that!" He gave a panicked laugh. "Aw, come on, Dr. Balinkoff! Would you jump off the Brooklyn Bridge just 'cause somebody dared you?"

Balinkoff didn't deign to answer. Instead, he fiddled with the dials, flicked a switch and aimed his remote control at the Professor. The blue beam flashed out and glowed on the Professor's face as Gilligan watched in mounting fear. After a moment the beam faded, and the Professor slumped over on the cot. "Professor?" For a few moments, Gilligan forgot to breathe.

"Loss of consciousness is temporary," purred Balinkoff. "Wait and see."

At last the Professor stirred, rising on his arms and shaking his head. He heaved a great, deep breath, dragging his hands through his hair as if awakening from a bad dream. 'Oh...where am I? What hit me?"

The first mate stood trembling, awaiting the Professor's reaction. Balinkoff, meanwhile, watched with gleaming eyes.

Now the Professor looked up, and immediately sat upright. Real tears glimmered in his eyes. "Gilligan! Oh, Gilligan, my dear, dear friend, thank you! If you only knew what you've freed me from!"

Gilligan's face was a beacon of joy and relief. "Professor! It's great to have you back!"

"Gilligan, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for all the trouble I've caused!"

"That's okay, Professor! Don't give it a second thought!"

"What a tender reunion," Balinkoff simpered. "So warming to the heart!"

"You see! Told you so!" The first mate turned to Balinkoff a smirk of triumph. "The Professor knows me! You didn't give him amnesia at all!"

Balinkoff didn't seem concerned. "Of course not. Were you not listening? Amnesia occurs only when the victim is changed into what he is _not_. The Professor is normally what you would call "good." Now, when I make him "evil" again, he will forget he ever knew you!" And smiling his Machiavellian smile, Balinkoff aimed the remote at the Professor before the Professor could move.

"Balinkoff, no!" Gilligan cried desperately. "Don't do it! Leave him alone! _Skipper! Help!_"

At the sound of Gilligan's screams the tall man suddenly rose up and roared at Balinkoff. He threw himself at the mad scientist, grappling him to the ground. The remote control clattered to the floor. "You stupid ape!" howled Balinkoff as he struggled. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

"Atta boy, little fella! Quick, Professor! Grab a vine!" shouted Gilligan in delight. "Skipper!" he called towards the mouth of the cave. "Skipper, come on! We've got Balinkoff!"

Though still a bit weak, the Professor was already hurrying to the cave's mouth to grab some vines. "The Skipper's out here too? That's wonderful!" He poked his head out and looked around. "Skipper? Skipper!"

"Will somebody stop this ape before he devours me?" begged Balinkoff as the tall man gnawed on his cuffs.

Gilligan laughed. "Come on, Professor! You'd better tie Balinkoff up before my little pal here loses his temper!"

The Professor came rushing back with the vines. "My pleasure, Gilligan! I'll get you free as soon as he's secure!"

"Stand him up, little fella," said Gilligan. "Let the Professor get at him."

The tall man obligingly did so as the Professor tied the mad scientist's arms. "Why do you obey this fool, and not me?" Balinkoff snapped at the tall man. "I am your master!"

"I guess he just likes me better," said Gilligan with a smug grin.

"I believe he simply believes he has met another monkey!" Balinkoff shot back.

The Professor, meanwhile, checked his knots and moved away. "There. That ought to hold you." He craned his head towards the cave's mouth. "I didn't see the Skipper outside, Gilligan. It's odd that he didn't come when he heard you calling."

"Yeah." Gilligan frowned, also looking towards the vine draped shafts of daylight. "Maybe something's wrong. We'd better go look for him."

"Good idea." The Professor moved to Gilligan's back. "Just let me get you untied."

Suddenly the little monkey began to hop up and down, pointing to himself and gibbering insistently. He held up the remote control and waved it like a wand.

"Oh! Sorry, Igor. I nearly forgot!" Gilligan nodded and the Professor paused. "We promised Igor if he helped us we'd switch him back into his human body."

"Traitor!" Balinkoff hissed at the monkey. "I should have turned you into a beetle!"

"We were hoping you'd know how, Professor." The monkey hooted still more and Gilligan smiled in sympathy. "I don't think he can stand another minute of being a monkey. Can you help him, huh, Professor? We'd never have found you without him. I can wait."

The Professor smiled and bent to take the device from the monkey's hand. "Glad to oblige, Gilligan. The controls are labelled in Balinkoff's native tongue, but fortunately I happen to have a smattering of Romanian."

Balinkoff snarled. "_Ordog!_"

The Professor raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Why, thank you, Doctor!" He turned to the monkey. "All right, Igor. Go and stand over there next to your...uh...self."

The monkey scampered over, took the tall man's hand and pulled him off to one side. The Professor, meanwhile, adjusted the dials and aimed the control at the two of them. "All right, gentlemen. One, two, three!"

The beam flashed out again and man and monkey shook as though strapped in a vibrating exercise belt. After a moment, the beam faded and the pair stopped shimmying.

The tall man blinked his eyes, then lifted his arms and looked at his hairless hands. A grin spread across his Neanderthal features. "I'm me again! I'm me! I'm me!" Beside him, the little monkey rolled about, peeling off its confining clothes and waving them happily in the air.

The Professor smiled. "Congratulations, gentlemen."

Igor shook the Professor's hand and slapped him on the back. "Thanks, Prof! Wow, you're a genius! How'd you get that thing to work, anyway? I could never figure it out!"

Laughing, the Professor pointed to the controls. "It's really quite simple. This setting is 'Jekyll,' if you will, this one is 'Hyde,' and this one is the mind-transfer control. You simply set the dial, press this button and aim."

"Gee! You make it sound so easy, Prof!"

"_I_ made it easy!" Balinkoff shouted. "It is my invention!"

The Professor set the remote control down on Balinkoff's stool. "Any scientist who takes no moral responsibility for what he creates is no scientist at all, Balinkoff." Turning Gilligan around, the Professor began to work at the young sailor's bonds. "Gilligan, this is wonderful! Do you realize this means our rescue? Balinkoff has a boat and—"

There was a thump, and the Professor's words ended in a groan. Gilligan whirled to see Igor, big hands clenched together like a club, standing over the Professor's fallen form. "Professor!" Gilligan cried.

The monkey began to scream.

"Shut up, you!" Igor roared, and the monkey shrank back. Snatching up the remote, Igor grabbed the stool in his other hand and flung it at the little creature, who fled shrieking into the shadows. "You're lucky I don't wring your rotten little neck! I've had enough bananas to last me a lifetime!"

"Igor, my clever friend!" cried Balinkoff, his face alight as he waddled over to his towering henchman. "I always knew I could depend on you! Release me now, and I shall make you my new partner when we return home!"

Igor shoved the remote into his pocket and seized Balinkoff's shirtfront. "No way, you nut! I'm gonna be the boss of the whole world now! And you're gonna be my tame animal! Now get over here, next to Popeye the Sailor Man!" He slung Balinkoff over next to Gilligan, and began to tie their trailing vines together.

"Igor, you promised!" gasped Gilligan. He looked down at the Professor, who still didn't stir. "Professor, are you okay? Skipper!" He shouted towards the mouth of the cave. "_Skipper!_ We need you! Where are you?"

Igor smirked at Gilligan. "Your pal isn't coming. He fell in a trap. He didn't fit in with my plans."

Gilligan sucked in a breath of horror. "A trap? Is he okay? Igor, we trusted you!"

"Trusted me? You turned me into a dog, remember? I got a bone or two to pick with you, kid!"

Gilligan blanched. He looked down at the motionless Professor, desperately hoping to see signs of movement. "Professor! Professor, wake up! Please!"

"We've got a boat to catch! Come on!" Igor shoved bound pair, now joined by a length of vine rope, towards the mouth of a cave. As they disappeared through the curtain of vines, Igor and Balinkoff trading insults and Gilligan still pleading to the Professor in vain, the little brown monkey crept out of the darkness. It crept momentarily to the fallen man, fingering his hair and whimpering. Then with a tentative sniff at Gilligan's footprints, it stole off out of the cave on silent feet.


	12. Chapter 12

A short while later, a frantic voice boomed through the cave. "Gilligan! Gilligan, little buddy! Are you in here?"

Still lying on the cave floor, the Professor blinked at the familiar voice and groaned.

"Professor!" The Skipper charged in, squinting against the gloom. Spotting the recumbent form on the ground at last, he knelt by his friend's side. Carefully he helped the Professor to sit up. "Oh, my gosh, what happened to you? Are you all right?"

The Professor held his head as those strong hands supported him. He blinked again and looked up into a pair of very worried blue eyes. "Skipper! Unh...thank goodness!"

"Looks like you were down for the count! Who clobbered you?"

The Professor rubbed the base of his skull, grimacing. "I've been more than clobbered, Skipper. I've been under the influence of a mind-altering device! A device that—"

"I'm way ahead of you, Professor. All this was Boris Balinkoff's doing, not yours."

The Professor blinked in surprise. "Good Heavens, Skipper. How on Earth did you deduce that?"

The Skipper rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sherlock! Since when do you start acting like you're going to take over the world?"

"But...but how did you know it was Balinkoff?"

"Since we found his goon Igor in a monkey suit! Gilligan was supposed to pretend to be his prisoner, so we could get you changed back." The Skipper looked around anxiously. "But where is my little buddy, Professor? Did you see him?"

The Professor's eyes went wide with horror as the memory came flooding back. "Oh, good Heavens...yes, I did! Only now Gilligan really is a prisoner! He's Igor's prisoner!"

The Skipper clutched his hat. "_What? _Are you sure?"

The Professor nodded as the Skipper helped him to his feet. "He used Gilligan and me long enough to take Balinkoff prisoner and get himself changed back into a man, and then struck me when I turned my back on him!"

"Why, that dirty double-crosser! Just wait 'til I get my hands on him! But..." The Skipper scratched his head, perplexed. "What'd Igor want to double-cross us for? We weren't his enemies. We were trying to help him!"

The Professor shook his head. "Apparently Igor's every bit as ambitious and treacherous as his former master. Now _he_ plans to take over the world!" The Professor pointed to the fallen stool. "Look! He must have taken Balinkoff's device!"

The Skipper glanced over. "But even with that crazy gadget – could Igor do it? He's no scientist, mad or not!"

"I'm sure he'll fail, but he'll hurt any number of innocent people in the attempt - and Gilligan will be the first!"

"Oh, my gosh..." The Skipper wrung his big hands. "But why'd he take Gilligan in the first place?"

The Professor's eyes clouded with worry. "I heard Igor shouting just before I lost consciousness. He hasn't forgotten it was Gilligan who changed him into a dog. Igor's taking Gilligan and Balinkoff back to the castle for Heaven knows what kind of retribution!"

The Skipper clutched his hat so hard he nearly crushed it. "My poor little buddy! We've got to stop them! Where's their boat, Professor?"

"I don't know. Balinkoff didn't tell me."

"What? Then what are we going to do, Professor? They've got a head start already, and there's miles of coastline they could launch themselves from. We haven't got time to search the whole island!"

The Professor's eyes suddenly blazed with inspiration. "We don't have to, Skipper! There's a device in my hut that can track Balinkoff anywhere on this island. When I first arrived at this cave, I attached a miniature transmitter to his cloak!"

A ray of hope shot across the Skipper's weathered face. "A miniature transmitter? Professor, what would we do without you?"

If the Skipper had doubted for even a moment that the Professor was cured, the look of guilt on the scientist's face would have convinced him. "It's because of me Gilligan's in danger, Skipper. Come on! I'll never forgive myself if we lose him!"

With the Professor in tow, the Skipper ran all the way back to camp with the speed of his schooldays as a star football player. Still, he felt it was not fast enough. "Everybody!" the Skipper panted as they raced into camp where the others were waiting at the table. "The Professor's back to normal! He's all right!"

"HURRAY! PROFESSOR! PROFESSOR!"

"But we've got to—"

The Skipper's next words were completely drowned as the women and Mr. Howell jumped up and swamped the hapless scientist. Nearly bowled over by the onslaught, the Skipper felt like he'd just missed being hit by a tsunami.

Ginger fairly crushed the Professor in her slender arms. "Professor! Oh, Professor, thank goodness! I was so worried!"

The Professor's arms flew around her reflexively before he remembered the urgency of the situation. "Unh! Ginger, please, I—" He didn't get out another syllable as her lips sealed his like a steamer.

"O frabjous day! Calloo! Callay!" Mr. Howell patted him on the back. "Wonderful to have you back safe, old man!"

The Skipper clutched at his hat. "Everybody, let go of him, please! We've got to—"

"We're so glad you're all right, Professor!" Mary Ann was clinging to his arm. "We knew there had to be something wrong with you! We just knew you'd never make those awful things!"

"Quite right, Mary Ann," echoed Mrs. Howell. "You gave us all quite a nasty fright, Professor! From now on I must insist that you simply do not go wandering off on your own!"

"Did you hear us on Balinkoff's radio, Professor?" asked Mr. Howell with a self-congratulatory smile. "What did you think of our performance, old man? Weren't we splendid? I'll wager Balinkoff was swollen to bursting with all that false praise!"

Still locked in Ginger's kiss, all the Professor could do was raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"You didn't think that praise was for him, did you?" Mary Ann giggled. "We were really talking about you!"

"Indeed, Professor! That's how we all truly think of you," beamed Mrs. Howell.

The Professor, eyelash-to-eyelash with Ginger, remembered _her_ comments. His eyebrows shot into his hair.

"Everybody!" yelled the Skipper. "You've got to let go of him!"

The Professor finally managed to come up for air. "Please, everyone! Listen to the Skipper! He needs my help!"

The women and Mr. Howell stopped talking and looked at the Professor in surprise. The Skipper couldn't wait any longer. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Professor, I'll get it! Where is it?"

"It's on my lab table, Skipper, next to the Bunsen burner! A small, grey metal disk with a dial like a compass in the centre!"

"Right!" The Skipper dashed into the Professor's hut, yanking the wooden door so hard it nearly flew off its hinges.

The other castaways stared. "What's going on, Professor?" asked Ginger. "What does the Skipper need? Why's he so upset?"

"The only thing that can upset the Skipper like that is...oh, my gosh!" Mary Ann's hand flew to her mouth as she whipped her head around, scanning the jungle frantically. "Where's Gilligan? Why isn't he with you?"

The Professor had them all at arm's length now as he took command. "That's just it, Mary Ann. Igor's betrayed us. He's taken Balinkoff and Gilligan prisoner, and they're leaving the island!

The women shrieked; Mr. Howell took a step back. "No! I promised that boy he'd be in no danger, and a Howell never goes back on his word! We've got to find him before those fiends abscond with him!"

"But how on Earth are we to find them, Thurston?" said Mrs. Howell. "We've no little monkey ally now!"

The Skipper burst out of the Professor's hut. "I think I've got it! Is this it, Professor?" With a trembling hand he passed over the small, compact-sized disk.

"That's it, Skipper! Now we'll find them!"

"But how?" asked Ginger. "What's that?"

"It's your tracking device," gasped Mary Ann as her eyes lit with hope. "Professor, you're a genius!"

"I only hope your faith in me is justified, Mary Ann. This is the only hope Gilligan's got!" The Professor switched the device on, and the little disk began to hum as the needle vibrated and swung to the west. "That's it! That's the signal!"

Mary Ann clutched his wrist to see the direction. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

The Skipper planted his burly form right in her path. "Now wait a minute! You women aren't coming!"

"The Skipper's right!" said the Professor. "This is no place for a woman."

Mary Ann's hands flew to her hips. "Oh, don't you men start that old song again! We've had enough!"

Mr. Howell shook his head. "Fair warning, fellows. I've had my hands full all day trying to keep these ladies here while you've been playing at cowboys and Indians!"

"That's right! This time we're coming too!" insisted Ginger.

The Skipper was taken aback. "Ladies, this is serious! Look, you're all very brave, but you need to leave this to us! For a job like this you need muscle!"

"You need nerve, you mean!" countered Mary Ann. "Gilligan once charged a headhunter twice his size and saved us!"

"Captain!" Mrs. Howell approached the big sailor, gesturing with her lorgnette for emphasis. "To lose one man might be called misfortune; to lose two sounds like carelessness! We women have left this affair up to you men long enough, and look at the result! Surely we can't do any worse!"

"Besides, you can't stop us!" cried Mary Ann. "We love Gilligan too, and we won't stay here, no matter what you say!"

"I'm afraid it's mutiny, Captain," said Mr. Howell, smiling.

The Skipper sighed in exasperation as he looked with sinking eyes at the rapidly sinking sun. "They've got to shove off before sunset! Professor, we're going to lose them!"

"Skipper, if there's one thing I've learned from all of this, it's that we all make quite a team. I say we all go!"

The Skipper heaved a huge sigh of resignation and gratitude. "If you can't beat them, join them! Aye aye, then, Professor! Come on, everyone!"

The castaways turned as one and sprinted down the trail, racing the setting sun.


	13. Chapter 13

Deep in the jungle Igor crashed through the foliage, trampling it underfoot as he dragged his two bound prisoners behind him. His much longer stride had Gilligan and Balinkoff stumbling desperately and careening off one another every five seconds.

"Come on, you two!" Igor snapped. "Step on it! We don't have all day!" When he reefed on the vine for emphasis, the two smaller men catapulted forwards and shot past their captor into a thick stand of bush. The next thing Igor knew, four feet were sticking out of that bush, kicking helplessly.

"Get up, you clowns!" Igor hauled back again, dragging Gilligan and Balinkoff up like a pair of landed fish.

"Ow! Not so rough!" snapped Gilligan. "I wasn't rough on you when you were a little guy!"

"Why did you ever trust him, Gilligan?" snarled Balinkoff. "You fool!"

"Me? What about you? You're the guy who hired him in the first place!"

"Have you any idea how difficult it is to find an evil henchman?" Balinkoff rolled his eyes. "What was I to do? Put an ad in the newspaper?"

"Put a sock in it, both of you!" Igor grabbed the vine and stomped past his prisoners, yanking them in his wake. Gilligan and Balinkoff reeled as Igor dragged them faster than ever. "When we get back to the castle, you're both gonna be running – on all fours!"

"Ha! You can never master my inventions! Not without me to help you!"

Igor gave a nasty guffaw. "Then I'll experiment, Doc! On you _and_ the kid from the Crackerjack box. That should be good for a few laughs!"

Gilligan and Balinkoff shot each other worried glances as they lurched along. "Wh-what other stuff do you have in that creepy lab of yours?" asked Gilligan. "What could he do to us?"

Balinkoff swallowed. "You do not want to know!"

The first mate paled; his every nerve yelled at him to run the other way. Trying to keep his voice low enough so Igor would not hear, he whispered, "Listen, we've gotta make a break for it! Let's pull him off balance so he'll let go!"

"H-how?" gasped Balinkoff, who was getting winded already.

Gilligan saw a long, thick, projecting tree root ahead. "Up there!" he whispered. "Get ready!"

Balinkoff spotted it just in time and nodded. When they reached it, the two men braced their feet, arched back and jerked on the vine in unison. Igor slipped, floundered, and the vine flew from his hands.

"Now! Run!" yelled Gilligan. The pair turned and dashed away down the path they had made, ducking the huge wet leaves and trailing branches. The sound of Igor's cursing voice behind them lent wings to their feet, and they raced on, toe-to-toe, trying desperately not to knock one another off balance. This was not helped by the fact that Gilligan was definitely the faster, and the more frightened.

"Slow down!" panted Balinkoff as his shoes slithered on the wet ground. "This is like being tied to a deer!"

"This is like being tied to a turtle! Come on!"

They hurtled onwards through the maze of green and hazy light until suddenly Gilligan gave a wild lurch to the left.

Balinkoff wrenched him back, and Gilligan's reeling body nearly knocked him over. "Where are you going now? My cave is this way!"

Regaining his footing, Gilligan hauled to the left again and started running, dragging Balinkoff with manic energy. "But camp's this way! We've gotta get help! We've gotta find the Skipper and make sure he's okay!"

"How can you find him...in all this...wilderness!" Balinkoff panted. "It is...preposterous!" He yanked the vine and they stumbled to the right, still keeping up their frantic pace. "We must return... to the cave!"

"Why?"

"I must... transform the Professor again! We need...his help!"

"He'll help me the way he is now!" retorted Gilligan, sprinting ahead and snapping the vine to the left. "Anyway, I don't trust you! If we go to your cave, you'll aim some ray at both of us!"

But Balinkoff had a slight advantage of weight. Abruptly he leaned to the right, and their tack changed again. "And why... should I trust you? You plotted against me! You and... all your friends!"

"You plotted against us first! We didn't come to your island and bother you!" They veered again to the left.

"I wish I had never...found this forsaken island!" Back to the right.

"I wish you hadn't either!" The left.

"Idiot! Nincompoop!" Right.

"Mad scientist!" Left.

Balinkoff ground his teeth. "If I told you a million times... I told you once! Scientist, yes! Mad—"

Neither one of them saw the tree.

And both passed it, one on the right and one on the left, but the vine between them had no such option. It caught. Gilligan and Balinkoff swung towards each another, missed each other twice, and two seconds later were snugly wrapped to the trunk like a South American bola.

They were still dazed and gasping for breath when Igor came pounding up. He saw them tied to the tree like martyrs, and broke into a loud laugh. "Nice going, morons! Couldn't have done it better myself!" Igor grabbed Gilligan and dragged him 'round the tree until both he and Balinkoff were free. Then Igor's laughter abruptly ended. "Think you're a couple of wiseguys, eh?"

"I am surrounded by imbeciles!" groaned Balinkoff. "Of every size!"

Igor grabbed his former master by the shirt front and hauled him up on his tiptoes. "Oh, yeah? Who you talking about?"

"He means _me_," gasped Gilligan, giving Igor a feeble smile as he was dragged forwards.

Balinkoff's eyes spat fire. "I am also talking about a man who was meant to be an ape! Whose low forehead proclaims it! Whose missing link is still missing!"

As Igor's cave-man features twisted in a snarl, Gilligan shook his head wildly. "Don't listen to him, Igor! I think you're real smart! Maybe even smarter than the monkey!"

Igor shook Balinkoff once. "Who cares what you think, Doc? What do I need you for, anyway? How's about I just dump you overboard when we get out to sea?"

"You'd untie us first, wouldn't you?" babbled Gilligan.

Balinkoff smirked. "You forget, Igor – you can no more read a map than you can a menu! You would never find your way back!"

"Why, you—" Igor drew back his fist, but stopped. "I'm going to enjoy turning you into a lab rat. Maybe I'll feed you to your pet snake!" He grabbed the vine rope again. "Come on. And no more funny stuff, either one of you, if you want to keep all your teeth! Move it!"

"Can I just run around in one of the little mazes?" asked Gilligan with a sinking heart, as he and Balinkoff were dragged off again into the jungle.

"Professor," called Mr. Howell from the rear of the now-halted jungle race, "either Igor and his prisoners are playing hopscotch, or that invention of yours isn't quite ready for the assembly line."

"Cut it out, Howell," snapped the Skipper, fear giving way to anger. He turned to the Professor, who stood staring as the needle on his tracker swung to and fro. "Why's it doing that, Professor? Is something wrong?"

Too preoccupied to answer, the Professor fished a tiny screwdriver from his pocket and unscrewed the back hinges. Frowning in concentration, he poked and prodded at the delicate components. Every so often he blinked, drew back a little, and then peered in again.

"It'll be getting dark soon," said the Skipper, looking at the jungle's lengthening shadows. "They'll have to get underway! We don't have much time!"

"Remind me to cancel the patent application on that thing," said Mr. Howell.

The Professor resisted the urge to hurl the device to the ground. "I'm afraid that ray of Balinkoff's doesn't warrant a patent either! Those mad evil inventions of mine were the product of haste and over-enthusiasm, not research and precision!"

"Cut the highbrow lingo, Professor! What do you mean?" cried the Skipper.

"It means they don't work," groaned the Professor.

The castaways stared gloomily at the little device in the Professor's hand. "You mean…we can't use it to find my little buddy?" said the Skipper, numb with disbelief.

Mary Ann could barely speak for the tightness in her throat. "They're going to take him away…maybe change him into some animal…forever?"

Suddenly Ginger looked at the device with new eyes. "Wait a minute, Professor! You're forgetting something about this invention!"

Their eyes all snapped up in sudden hope. "What?" the Skipper gasped.

"The Professor was working on the tracking device before the three of you ever left for the mountain! Professor, you let me help you with it! Remember?"

"Why, you're right, Ginger!" the Professor exclaimed.

She nodded eagerly. "The bombs and the poison you thought of after Balinkoff hit you with his ray, but you'd nearly finished this one the night before. You only changed what you were going to use it for. Even if you did something to it while you were under the spell, I'll bet you could fix it!"

"I'll try," said the Professor in a muffled voice as, clenching the screwdriver in his teeth, he peered at the components again. But a moment later he blinked and shook his head furiously.

"Oh, dear, Professor, what's wrong?" asked Mrs. Howell.

He snatched the screwdriver from his mouth. "It's no use. I'm still unable to fully focus due to Igor's blow. I simply can't concentrate enough to perform such delicate work!"

"I'd do it if you just told me what to do, Professor," said the Skipper, reaching for the screwdriver.

By this point the Professor was clenching the little screwdriver so tightly it seemed he would snap it in half. His voice shook with helplessness and frustration. "That's just it, Skipper. I can't tell you. I can't!"

Ginger stepped forward again. "Professor, I remember what we did. Let me try."

Mrs. Howell was worried. "Are you sure, Ginger, dear? It looks like very delicate work."

Ginger looked up at the Professor and smiled. "Don't worry, Mrs. Howell. The Professor says I have the hands of a surgeon. That's good enough for me."

The Professor breathed an immense sigh of relief and gratitude. "I don't deserve such praise, Ginger. But it's true. You can do this! I'm sure of it!" He was about to hand over the screwdriver, then realized he'd had it in his mouth. "Oh, forgive me. Let me wipe it first."

"Good idea, Professor," purred Ginger. "You never know where it's been." With a delighted laugh at his crimsoned cheeks, she took the tiny screwdriver and made several adjustments, wielding it as expertly as she did a mascara brush. At last she looked up. "Try it now, Professor."

He clapped the back panel closed and turned the device over, and they all watched breathlessly as the little needle wavered. Then, like a finger of fate, it settled irrevocably in one direction.

"That's it!" The Professor cried. "Bravo, Ginger! You've done it!"

"Atta girl, Ginger!" The Skipper pulled her into a quick embrace. "You're the best!" He took the device and looked at it. "Northwest...lemme see...that would mean – Sunset Cove! Of course! It's the perfect place to beach a small craft!" His fists knotted in worry. "The trail's a bit overgrown, though..."

"That's odd," said Mr. Howell. "Didn't seem that way when Mary Ann and I went there this morning."

"That's because we took the shortcut!" said Mary Ann. "Gilligan made it!" She clasped her hands. "Oh, Gilligan! Come on! What are we waiting for?"

The farm girl fairly flew off into the jungle as they all hurried after her.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun hung low over the purple sea as Igor and his captives reached the beach; already the great mountains were fading into shadow. "Igor, you are mad!" Balinkoff shouted as he stumbled along in Igor's grip. "The sun will set in minutes! You are no sailor, and yet you intend to sail at night?"

"He's a sailor," snarled Igor, giving Gilligan a push that nearly sent him sprawling into the sand. "He can navigate for us!"

"_Him_?" Balinkoff threw Igor an unbelieving look. "You are more mad than I thought!"

"He's right, Igor!" Gilligan looked frantically from the two men to the dark, endless waves on the horizon. "I can't steer at night – I get the stars all mixed up! And I'm afraid of the dark!"

"Come on! Quit stalling!" The hulking man dragged them forwards until they reached a stand of dense bush. Savagely he ripped aside the bushes to reveal the slim lines of Balinkoff's motor launch. "Get this boat in the water and make it snappy!"

"Our hands are tied, you fool!"

"You won't need your hands, Doc!" Igor grabbed the gunwales and with a mighty heave, wrenched the boat free as branches snapped and leaves flew. Then he lashed his vine-leash through a metal ring that protruded from the prow. "Now, the two of you: mush!"

Balinkoff blinked. "You cannot be serious!"

For answer, Igor shook his huge fist under Balinkoff's nose, then Gilligan's. "Think so, fellas? Would a fat lip or a busted nose change your mind?"

"It changes mine!" gasped Gilligan. The first mate spun and struck off for the beach, half-dragging Balinkoff with him. Igor grabbed the shoulder of the doctor's coat and fairly lifted him along for the first few steps until Balinkoff regained his footing in the shifting sand and stumbled along beside Gilligan.

The sand was damp now beneath their feet, and seconds later Gilligan and Balinkoff were splashing into the breakers, with Igor dragging Balinkoff by the coatsleeve again. "This water is cold!" cried Balinkoff. "And my suit will be ruined!"

"Shaddap!"

The curling waves were soon smacking the men in the waist as the wind picked up and the sun sank still lower in the darkening sky. The boat behind them bobbed and bounced, jerking back on the vine until Gilligan and Balinkoff nearly lost their footing. But Igor dragged them on until they were bouncing on their toes to keep above the waves, their lips rimed with salt spray.

"Do you mean..._sputter_...to drown us!" A wave crested over Balinkoff's head and stole his hat. "We must..._ack_...get aboard!"

"Sure thing, Doc!" Igor untied the vine from the boat. Then, his chest and shoulders still above the waves, he grabbed Balinkoff under the armpits and hoisted him into the boat with one mighty heave.

Balinkoff howled as he bumped the bottom boards. "Ungrateful swine! You are only fit to be a monkey!"

The sun was sinking in the violet heavens. Desperately trying to stay above water despite his bound hands, Gilligan threw a despairing look back towards the island where the dark palms were waving as if in mournful farewell.

"Get in there," Igor snarled, reaching over and hauling Gilligan over the rail with one hand. Gilligan yelped as he tumbled into the boat and sprawled into Balinkoff, who was crouched in the bow. Meanwhile, Igor grabbed the rail himself and clambered in. Swiftly he made for the stern and busied himself with the motor, yanking back on the starter. _Phzzz...phzzz...phzzz_...went the outboard. "You cheapskate, Balinkoff!" he snarled. "This lousy outboard's always giving us trouble!"

"Only because you do not take proper care of it!"

"If you untied me I could row," Gilligan suggested hopefully.

"Shaddap!" Igor pulled again, and the motor throbbed wildly before sputtering out. "Almost got it that time," he muttered.

Gilligan strained at his bonds, wrists aching and heart hammering. As he writhed on the floorboards, he caught the glint of a tiny pair of eyes in the darkness behind Balinkoff, beneath the bow seat. Gilligan gasped in disbelieving hope as the little brown monkey darted out and scuttled over to him. Igor, intent on the motor, saw nothing else.

"Little fella!" whispered Gilligan. "Am I glad to see you! Get me out of this, huh?"

The motor throbbed again, louder and longer. They shot forward a few feet, then bobbed to a stop. Igor unscrewed the gas cap on the top of the motor, sniffed it, and laughed. "Whaddya know? It's just out of gas! Lucky we've got plenty!" He lifted the red gas can from the stern and poked the nozzle into the gas tank. "We'll be outta here in no time!"

Balinkoff scowled as the little monkey began gnawing on the vines that bound Gilligan. "Wait one moment! _I_ am your master," he hissed. "Untie me first, you stupid creature!"

"He is not stupid!" Gilligan hissed back.

"Oh, yes, he is!"

"If he's so stupid, how come he's free and you're all tied up?"

Gilligan sat up straight and held as still as he could, feeling the warmth of the little lips on his wet, cold wrists. Somehow he kept himself from struggling even as he saw Igor tap the nozzle of the can against the gas tank's rim and lift it out.

Balinkoff was so angry with the monkey that he hardly noticed.

"Get me loose, you worthless ape!"

Busy screwing on the gas cap, Igor suddenly turned. "Who are you calling a—" He caught sight of the monkey. "Hey, what the heck is he doing here?"

The monkey shrieked and dove behind Gilligan. Igor started towards them when a new sound reached their ears above the rush of the waves: a chorus of shouting voices. "Gilligan! We're coming!" The three men in the boat looked back to the darkening shore where six figures were pelting down the beach, tiki torches glowing before them. The Skipper was in the lead. "Hang on, little buddy!"

"Skipper!" Gilligan cried desperately. "They're gonna Shanghai me! Hurry!"

Igor grabbed the remote control from his pocket. "Keep back, all of you!" he shouted to the castaways as they thudded down the sand towards the breakers. "Or your friend gets it!"

The Skipper flung his arm out, stopping the others so abruptly they nearly crashed into each other. "Wait!" he ordered. "They'll hurt Gilligan!"

"I'll give you half a million dollars – each!" shouted Mr. Howell. "Just let the boy go!"

"Nothing doing! We're getting out of here!" shouted Igor. He ripped back the starter with a vengeance, and the motor roared to life. Igor grabbed the tiller as the boat shot forward, cresting the waves as foam erupted under the stern. "And you!" he snarled, stabbing a finger at Gilligan. "You steer us right, or I'll feed you to the sharks!"

Gilligan saw the tiki flames and familiar figures on shore growing smaller and smaller. He wrenched fiercely at the tough remnant of vine that still bound his wrists.

Igor stared at him. "Hey...what's the big idea? What's that little rat doing back there?"

"Who are you calling a little rat?" snarled Balinkoff.

In that moment the monkey's teeth met and the vine snapped. Gilligan's wrists flew apart, missing the monkey but nearly hitting Balinkoff in the process. The first mate threw the vines from the rest of his body as Igor watched in astonishment.

The motorboat was fairly flying through the water now, spray blasting from the bow. His one hand still on the tiller, Igor whipped out his other hand to aim the remote at Gilligan and the monkey. "Oh, no you don't, kid! You can still steer if you're an ape!"

The monkey's lip curled back in rage. With a shriek it leapt forwards, grabbed Igor's arm and chomped down on his wrist as though it were a particularly fine banana. Igor howled. "You little rat!" He tore the monkey off of his hand and flung it savagely into the waves. The little dark figure thrashed for a moment, screaming, before it sank.

"_No!_" Gilligan screamed. He made to spring at Igor, but the boat was jouncing wildly now with no one at the tiller. A rogue wave rocked the boat so high that Gilligan and Balinkoff crashed backwards into the hull. Groaning from the impact, Gilligan turned and saw that Igor's foot was right in the middle of a loop of mooring line. His own pain forgotten, Gilligan grabbed the line. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he shouted, and pulled with all his might.

Igor toppled backwards, landing on his backside on the bottom boards. The remote was underneath him. "Ow!"

But Igor was already getting up again; Gilligan realized he would have no chance at all in a hand-to-hand battle. And the little monkey was still nowhere to be seen. Gilligan clambered up and dove over the side, his arms flung out before him. Breaking into his swiftest stroke, he plunged through the waves to the place he had last seen his little friend. "Hold on, little fella!"

On shore, the Skipper and the Professor threw down their torches. "Gilligan's out!" yelled the Skipper. "Let's go!" He and the Professor dashed into the water as the others held their torches up for light. The sun was halfway below the horizon now, and the dark purple mantle of the sky was almost one with the wine dark sea.

Meanwhile Gilligan dove beneath the water and finally surfaced in the narrow, wavering orange light of the nearly drowned sun. He stood waist high out of the water, his feet firm on a sandbar, and in his arms was a dark, motionless bundle that he turned so that its head was lower than its chest. After a moment the little shape hiccoughed and spat up water, and Gilligan gently held it above the waves as he waited for the Professor and the Skipper to reach him.

Igor had struggled to his feet by now, but saw that by the time he could reach his escaped prisoner, the others would reach Gilligan first. In his rage, he didn't notice Balinkoff behind him, sawing his vine bonds on the sharp fluke of their anchor. All Igor saw was the slim silhouette of the first mate against the dying sunlight. He aimed the remote. "If that little rat makes it, he's gonna be you, Gilligan! Have fun being a monkey – for the rest of your life!"

Gilligan turned towards that voice, and the blue ray that shot across the waves hit him full in the face. It illuminated both him and the monkey like a beam from a searchlight before they both toppled backwards and vanished beneath the dark water.

"Gilligan!" the Skipper cried. "Come on, Professor!" The two men were crashing through the waves now towards that wavering sliver of wan light on the water.

Igor's lips drew back in a snarling smile. He sat down and grasped the tiller with one hand while he fingered the remote in the other. "'Least it looks as though this thing ain't broken!" He saw Balinkoff hunched in the bow, and his bestial grin grew even more savage. "What do you say, doc? Should I test it again?"

With a wrench of his arms, Balinkoff's vines fell apart. "No!" he roared, his now-freed hands outstretched. "You are not fit to profit from my genius!" The mad scientist launched himself forwards and in a moment he and Igor were grappling in the hull, the remote clutched in their twenty fingers. And no one was holding the tiller. The boat began to zig-zag, knocked by the caprice of the waves.

"We're gonna capsize!" yelled Igor. "Let go, you idiot!"

"It is my invention!" shouted Balinkoff. "_Barbar!_ _Imbecil!_ You let go!"

The topmost curve of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the island was instantly plunged into the equatorial night.

It was impossible to say whose fumbling finger hit the switch, but the darkness made the light that suddenly burst from the boat glow all the brighter: the light of the beam of the remote control as it lit the astonished faces of both Balinkoff and Igor, locked together in mortal combat. The boat bounced on a particularly angry wave, and the remote flew from the men's nerveless hands and plopped into the ocean. Balinkoff and Igor, meanwhile, slumped down into the hull unconscious as the boat continued unskippered out to sea.

On shore, the Skipper staggered out of the breakers with the long, limp form of his first mate in his arms while the Professor hurried after, cradling a damp brown ball of fur. The others bent in a semi-circle with their torches as both men laid their sodden burdens on the sand.

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann sobbed as she knelt at his head and fumbled with his collar buttons. "Is he breathing?"

"He is, Mary Ann," gasped the Skipper in a breaking voice as he gently took the little monkey from the Professor. "But I'm not sure about my little buddy!" He bent his head over the beast, and then to the others' astonishment, gently pinched its nostrils closed as he gave it mouth to mouth resuscitation.

"Wh-what does he mean, my little buddy?" gasped Ginger as she watched the Skipper's frantic efforts. "What's going on?"

"Kissing trees was one thing, but I mean, really!" said Thurston Howell.

The Skipper explained, "Igor hit Gilligan with the mind transfer ray! He's switched Gilligan with this monkey!" As the Howells and the girls exclaimed in horror, the Skipper clutched the Professor's arm. "Professor – Balinkoff's computer, in the cave! Could we use it to change him back?"

The Professor looked at the jungle, terribly worried. "I could try, Skipper. But we've so little time! We've got to get to his computer before-"

His words were cut off by the boom of a far-off explosion. The castaways all looked up. "What in the world was that?" cried Mary Ann.

The Professor stared in the direction of the sound, his face seeming to age years in minutes. "Balinkoff's computer. He told me he had set it to self-destruct so that none of you would find it!"

"Oh, no!" groaned the Skipper. The others looked at each other in dismay, and then down at Gilligan's motionless form.

"We've lost," the Professor whispered. "Gilligan will be trapped in the body of this monkey for the rest of his life!"

"No!" cried the girls, stroking Gilligan's damp, dark hair and kissing his pale face.

"Oh, dear. Perhaps we could adopt him again," said Mrs. Howell. "Thurston, would we need a special licence to keep a monkey?"

"Lovey, my dear, this isn't the time," whispered her husband.

The little monkey finally coughed and whimpered, and the Skipper tenderly helped it to sit up. "There, little buddy. Take it easy. Try not to talk...I mean...oh, Gilligan!" The big man wiped a hand across his eyes and looked over to where the others were tending the slender figure in the red shirt. "Oh, I just can't bear to look at you lying over there when you're really over here! How am I ever going to get used to this?"

"A true tragedy at sea," murmured Mr. Howell, taking off his hat. "Lovey, my dear, remind me to make a sizable donation to the Sailor's Fund."

"Oh, yes, Thurston! And perhaps we'd better make one to the World Wildlife Fund as well," said his wife.

"But what am I saying," cried the Skipper, deliberately turning his back on the painful sight of the body of his first mate. "How am _I_ going to get used to it? How are _you_ going to get used to it? You're the one who's going to have to bear the brunt of all this. But you know I'm going to be by your side all the way, little buddy."

He pulled the little monkey up into his lap, and it peered up into his face in confusion. "Ooh ooh?" it squeaked.

"You bet I am!" the Skipper insisted. "I'll stick by you through fair seas and foul – I'll take good care of you, just like I always have! Share and share alike!"

"Skipper," the Professor began.

"Please, Professor!" The Skipper blinked back his tears as he patted the little back tenderly. "I'm trying to have a word with my poor little buddy, here."

"But Skipper," said Mary Ann.

"I say, Captain, you seem to have hold of the wrong end of the banana there," said Mr. Howell.

"Please, folks!" The Skipper swallowed the life-preserver-sized lump in his throat and tried to put on a brave face. "I tell you what, little buddy. Try to see the bright side of all this."

"Ooh?" The monkey cuddled up happily against the Skipper's chest.

"Oh, look at that. He still knows his big buddy!" The Skipper wiped away another tear and attempted to hold his quivering smile. "You know, Gilligan, there are some good things about this. You can have a full stomach all the time, because it won't take very much food to fill you up!" He gave the little creature a reassuring scratch behind the ear and was rewarded with a toothy smile.

"And you won't have to catch lobsters or cut wood or fetch water anymore. You can just play around all day."

"Sounds good to me, Skipper," said Gilligan.

"There, you see?" The Skipper's watering eyes lit with pride. "I knew you'd take it like a man. And I tell you what." He plucked off his captain's hat and sat it on the monkey's head, but the hat was so large that it settled over the little nose. Gently the Skipper tipped up the brim until two bright brown eyes peeked out. "You can wear my hat and you can sit on my lap any time you like."

"I think I'll just stick with a chair, thanks," said Gilligan.

"Sure, Gilligan. Anything you—" The Skipper suddenly stopped, frowned, and looked around. Sitting up in the torchlight was Gilligan, his face so tattooed with lipstick that he looked like a Marubi warrior. The others were clustered around him, grinning at the Skipper.

Gilligan's was the widest grin of all. "So, do I still get to play all day and wear your hat, Skipper?"

"Wh...Gilligan! Gilligan, little buddy!" The Skipper's face was one big smile as he lunged towards his first mate. But he didn't get far before he noticed that the little monkey was clinging to him like a baby. "Gilligan, don't hold on to me like—" The Skipper suddenly stopped as his eyes and mouth had a contest over which could open wider. "Wait a minute. This is a monkey!"

"Of course it is, Skipper!" chuckled Ginger. "That's what we've been trying to tell you!"

The Skipper stared at the little creature for a moment longer before snatching his cap back. "Gimme that!"

"Oh, Captain, do let him wear it a little longer," said Mrs. Howell. "He does look so dashing in it. And besides, a moment ago you were so solicitous over him!"

The Skipper blinked and swiped a beefy arm across his mouth. "Yech! I practically kissed that thing!"

"Does that mean you're engaged, Skipper?" Gilligan's eyes twinkled with merriment as the little monkey stared adoringly up at his big buddy. "Can I be an usher?"

"You're going to need a pallbearer in a minute, wiseguy!" When the Skipper raised his cap on high the monkey squeaked in delight, snatched it and jammed it back on its own head. Everyone roared.

With an exasperated harrumph the Skipper shifted, monkey and all, to where Gilligan sat. For a moment the old sea dog stared at his sodden, skinny, shivering first mate before he grabbed him by the far shoulder and squeezed him so hard the water came squirting out of the red rugby shirt. "Oh, what's the use! With you around, Gilligan, I guess I'll always be a monkey's uncle!"

The others roared again and the little monkey clapped its hands.

The Skipper suddenly drew back. "Hey...what's that stuff all over your face?"

"What stuff?" Gilligan reached up and drew a finger across his cheek. When he looked at his finger in the torchlight, he gasped. "It's red! I'm bleeding!"

"No you're not, silly," chuckled Ginger. "That's just lipstick."

Gilligan dabbed at the other side of his face. "It's all over me!"

"It's mostly mine," said Mary Ann, smiling at him. "I was...trying to wake you up."

"Like Sleeping Beauty," added Ginger. "I kissed you a couple of times too, but I think I wore most of my lipstick off a little while ago." She flashed a smile at the Professor, whose blush glowed even in the torchlight.

"What was I, in a coma or something?" Gilligan gulped. "You didn't do mouth to mouth resuscitation on me, did you?"

"Here," sighed Mary Ann, pulling her compact out of her pocket. "So you can see to get it off."

Gilligan peered into the little circle of glass in the torchlight and yelped. "Look at me! What's the big idea, girls? I look like I just won a strawberry pie eating contest without any spoon!"

"Sorry, Gilligan," giggled Mary Ann. "Guess we got a little carried away!"

"Not still sleepy, are you?" purred Ginger.

"Skipper!" squeaked Gilligan as he scooted up next to his big buddy, and everyone laughed again.

Mr. Howell looked out towards the ocean blackness. Only the cool, moist kiss of the breeze and the hiss of invisible waves out in the darkness betrayed that there was any ocean out there at all. "Can't hear the outboard motor anymore. I suppose our friends are gone."

"And good riddance," said the Skipper. "But what happened with Gilligan, Professor? We both saw him get hit by that ray. Why didn't it work?"

"Igor fell over in the boat and landed on the remote control device," said Gilligan. "Maybe he broke it."

"I think it more likely that Igor's fall inadvertently changed the setting on the device," said the Professor. "After all, you did experience a brief period of unconsciousness, just as I did."

"But it didn't turn him into the monkey, and it sure doesn't sound like it's turned him evil," said the Skipper. "What did it do to Gilligan?"

The Professor smiled. "Absolutely nothing."

"What? What do you mean, Professor? How could do nothing?"

"Because there was nothing for it to do, Skipper. I believe Balinkoff's device was on the Dr. Jekyll setting when it hit Gilligan. In other words, it was programmed to turn him good: but Gilligan already is good. Therefore, the effects were negligible. It was like hitting a mirror: the ray just bounced right off him again."

"Like our kisses," said Ginger playfully. "We're going to have to work on that, Mary Ann."

Mary Ann chuckled. "Well, we'd better get you men back to camp and into some dry clothes first," she said, getting up and brushing the sand from her legs. The others followed suit, except for the Howells, who never knelt in sand if they could help it. "Are you going to keep the little monkey, Gilligan?"

"You bet," said Gilligan, now standing with the damp monkey in his arms. "He saved my life, and he saved the Professor too!"

"What are you going to name him?" asked the Skipper. "You can't just keep calling him 'monkey.'"

Gilligan looked at the little monkey and cocked his head. "I don't know, Skipper. I'll think of something. One thing's for sure, though. He's not going to be Igor – or Boris either!"

They all laughed. "Well, at least Balinkoff's computer is destroyed, and we've put at least one crimp into his plans," said the Professor. "Let's hope it's a long time before he ever comes back!"

"If ever," said Mrs. Howell "And if he does, I just may serve him tea and scones with the Professor's special jam!"

The wind had calmed out on the dark bosom of the sea, and the milk-white light of the full moon shone down upon two unconscious figures in a swiftly moving motorboat.

One of the figures, a tall, ungainly man who would have made the Three Stooges look clever, stirred awake. He struggled to sit up, and instinctively cut the motor. "Oh...what happened to me?" he murmured as the boat's movement subsided to a gentle, rocking glide.

As the tall man tossed the anchor over, he heard another voice. "_Oh! Ce sa întâmplat cu mine?_"

The tall man looked up to see a small, dapper, bearded man in formal evening wear struggling up on to a seat in the bow. "Hey, Mac! What's the matter? You okay?" the tall man called.

The bearded man's large eyes focused as he noticed the tall man for the first time. "_Unde sunt? Cine esti tu?"_

The tall man shook his head in sympathy. "Sorry, Mac. I'd love to help you, but I got no idea what you're saying."

The bearded man blinked and gave a gracious nod. "Forgive me, dear sir. How rude of me to thus respond when you spoke to me in English! Please accept my apologies and allow me to introduce myself. My name is..." His large eyes suddenly clouded over in uncertainty. "Wh-why...I cannot remember my name!"

The tall man suddenly raised his eyebrows in alarm. "Hey, you know what? I can't remember mine either! I can't remember who I am...except..." and he gave the bearded man a puzzled frown. "Except...that I help you!"

"Yes! Yes, that is right!" exclaimed the bearded man, his face lighting up like the gleaming moon. "And that means...you must be my friend!"

"Yeah! I must be! Put it there, pal!" With a huge grin, the tall man leaned forward and shook the other man's hand.

"Do you know where we are, my dear sir?" asked the bearded man, looking around a little nervously at the dark, rolling water that stretched into black infinity.

"Beats me." Rummaging amid the boat's tackle, the tall man drew out a large map. He peered at it in the light of the brilliant moon. "Hey: this is a map of the South Seas! We must be somewhere in the Pacific!"

He passed it to the beared man, who looked as well. "So many isolated islands...miles from any civilization! I wonder how we came to be here?"

The tall man shrugged. "Sure is strange. But we can't be too far from land. I mean, we couldn't have come out in a little rinky-dink tub like this otherwise, could we?"

"Of course not! My dear sir, what a comfort your good sense must be to me!" The dapper man stroked his beard in thought. "Wait - I have a plan! In the morning, let us follow the wandering sea birds. Surely they will lead us to land!"

"Hey, that's a great idea! You're a genius!"

The bearded man's large eyes brightened for a moment as he smiled happily at the compliment. "I seem to remember...that I am a doctor! I specialize in the study of the human brain!"

"No fooling? Wow!" The tall man was greatly impressed.

As the bearded man gazed at the map again, his brow suddenly furrowed in sorrow. "Just imagine, my dear sir! All of those islands filled with poor, ignorant natives! No hospitals! No sort of modern medical care! The suffering that must go on in such places! It breaks my heart to think of it!"

"Yeah. That's sure rotten for those people, all right." The tall man glanced down again, picked up a black leather bag that lay against the bottom boards and looked inside. "Hey, Doc – this is your medical bag! It's got your instruments and medicine, and everything!"

The bearded man opened the bag and eagerly fingered the contents. "How wonderful! And I remember how to use every one!"

Now the tall man suddenly had an epiphany. "Hey, that's it, Doc! I bet that's why we're out here! You were gonna open a clinic on one of these islands! Help those natives!"

The bearded man's great eyes widened with joy. "Of course! That must be what I was going to do! Oh, my dear sir, I can hardly wait to be of help to those poor people!"

"Me too, Doc!" The tall man frowned at the map again for just a moment. "Say - I think I heard somewhere that some of these natives can be a little unfriendly – but you know you won't have to worry about a thing, Doc, as long as I'm in your corner."

The bearded man smiled fondly. "My dear friend! Whatever would I do without you?"

And as the great glowing moon beamed down on that vast emptiness, the two men who had been Igor and Boris Balinkoff leaned forward, laughing, and embraced.

_Just one chapter left to go, folks! Thanks for hanging in there!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Once again, many thanks to littlesoprano for her witty, perceptive and tireless beta reading!**

Ginger stood at the window, her face gently shadowed in the last of the daylight. The deep gold of the sunset gleamed in her titian hair and shimmered on the beads of her sequinned evening gown. As she looked outside, she silently held a finger to her lips and made a quick beckoning movement.

"Just as I suspected!" cried the Professor.

The actress whirled, her hand to her throat, but sighed in relief when she saw that he was looking at atest tube and not at her. "What is, Professor?" she asked in her most innocent voice.

The Professor was frowning at the clear liquid that oozed lazily back and forth as he manipulated the test tube. "I was afraid of this. While I was under the influence of that Jekyll and Hyde ray I ruined the experiment you prepared so carefully, Ginger."

"You did? How?"

"I subjected this glycerol to so much heat trying to create a formula for those coconut landmines that I've made it virtually useless for my weather detectors." The Professor sighed as he popped the test tube back in its place on the rack. "Oh, well. At least it won't explode on us. I'm afraid all I've ended up creating is a new pectin for Mary Ann to use in her jam!" He turned in his chair, hands on thighs as he prepared to get up. "I suppose I should—"

Ginger took a quick step forward. "Oh! That reminds me, Professor! Mary Ann wanted to know whether you'd gotten rid of all those poisonous berries!"

The Professor sank back into his chair. "Oh, yes, of course. I threw them all

on the fire last night after we all came back to camp."

"Thank goodness! Mary Ann says that Gilligan told her, 'You've gotta watch out, Mary Ann! You put those primadonna berries in a pie, and we'll all be buried!'"

The Professor chuckled. "I'm pleased to hear he was so cautious, at any rate. I was afraid Gilligan's sweet tooth might tempt him to raid the food locker for a midnight snack!"

There was a knock at the door. "Anyone at home?"

"Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Howell," the Professor called.

As the wealthy couple entered, Ginger winked at Mr. Howell. The Professor began to stand, but Mr. Howell waved him back down. "Oh, no, don't get up, old man. We don't wish to disturb you. It's just that we had a question for you, you see?"

"Oh?"

"Yes, it's about those lovely oysters Thurston found for us," gushed Mrs. Howell. "The ones we all enjoyed last night. Several of them had the most perfect pearls inside!" She glanced up at Ginger. "Of course, darling Ginger, I'll share them with you and Mary Ann, but I do wish there were some way of training the little creatures. Some of them hadn't any pearls at all."

"Yes, that's just it, Professor," said Mr. Howell. "I've heard there is some way to mass produce them: cultured pearls, I believe they're called."

Mrs. Howell was delighted. "Cultured pearls, of course! Why Thurston, I'm sure we could train them! Play them Beethoven and Mozart and read them poetry..."

"Mrs. Howell," said the Professor, trying very hard not to smile, "I'm afraid the process is much simpler than that. The oyster secretes a nacreous substance in order to coat an irritant. All you have to do is introduce a foreign element into their environment."

"Oh." Mrs. Howell frowned for a moment. "Do you mean German and Austrian music isn't foreign enough? What about Indian music? Or perhaps Chinese?"

"We'll play them as much music as you like, Mrs. Howell," said the Professor, unable to hide his smile any longer. "You can even conduct us, if you like."

Mrs. Howell beamed. "How splendid!"

"How's supper coming?" asked Ginger nonchalantly.

Mr. Howell caught her eye again and adopted a breezy tone. "Oh, Mary Ann's very nearly got everything ready. Very _nearly._" He cleared his throat. "Lovey, my dear, didn't you have a question for the Professor about yournext salon?"

"Oh!" Mrs. Howell started. "Oh, yes! Yes, Professor, have you chosen your text yet?

"Yes I have, Mrs. Howell. But it isn't going to be Shakespeare for this first one, though it is one of his contemporaries. I'd like to read the poem to you all tonight, as a matter of fact."

Mrs. Howell's hand flew to her lips. "Oh, dear. We'd be delighted, Professor, but I'm not certain we can change the programme at the last minute!"

"I beg your pardon?" asked the Professor, confused.

Mr. Howell took his wife's arm. "Come along, Lovey, my dear. We'll just see whether Mary Ann needs our assistance."

"But we are assisting her, Thurston. Don't you remember? She insisted we come in here and make certain—"

"Come along, Lovey!" Mr. Howell gently guided his wife out as the Skipper appeared in the doorway. The old sea dog stepped politely aside, tipping his cap to Mrs. Howell.

The Professor looked up at Ginger. "Getting to be like Grand Central Station in here, isn't it?" he said _sotto voce. _

Ginger merely gave a smile and graceful shrug. "What can I say, Professor? You're just a very popular man."

The Skipper bustled in. "Say, Professor, have you got a minute?"

"Always, Skipper."

The Skipper gave a wide smile ...a little too wide, thought Ginger. "Well, it's just that...ep...I was wondering about that medicine you were working on. Did you ever get to finish it?"

"Why, Skipper? Is someone ill?" The Professor began to stand up again.

The Skipper quickly pushed the Professor back down. "Ep...no, no Professor! Everybody's fine!" He laughed a little too heartily. "I just thought it would be mighty handy to have around in case somebody gets sick. I mean, you never know...ep...somebody could get sick! Couldn't they, Ginger?"

Ginger folded her arms and shook her head at the worst improvisation she'd ever seen. "Sure, Skipper. Could happen anytime!"

The Professor looked curiously at the Skipper for a moment. "Well...fortunately, Skipper, I only cooked a few of the mushrooms while under the influence of Dr. Balinkoff's ray. Most of the ones I gathered are still in the food locker. Don't worry, though: they're quite safe as long as they're consumed in small quantities."

The Skipper nodded eagerly. "I'll make sure everybody knows, Professor. Especially Gilligan! Beats me how that skinny kid holds so much, but – Gilligan! _Gilligan!_" He looked back at them both, wringing his hands nervously. "Uh...sure is nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

Ginger's sigh could have blown the Skipper out the door.

The Skipper edged a little closer to that door. "Gilligan!" he bellowed again. "Gilligan, I need you!"

After a moment the door swung open and Gilligan came in, leading the little brown monkey by the hand. "Hi, Skipper. Is it my turn already? I-"

The Skipper grabbed Gilligan by the upper arm and shoved him forward. "Here, little buddy. Why don't you ask the Professor that question you were wondering about?"

"Uh, sure, Skipper," said Gilligan, frowning slightly as the Skipper released him. "Uh, Professor, I had a question about my little pal here. I want to know all about him. All that scientific stuff."

Ginger and the Professor traded looks for a moment. "All of it?" asked the Professor, eyebrows climbing.

The Skipper nudged Gilligan none too subtly. Gilligan nodded. "Yeah! All of it, Professor."

The Professor shrugged and took a deep breath. "Well, to begin with, he belongs to the Kingdom of Animalia..."

Gilligan's face lit. "There's a _kingdom_? Oh, Professor, where is it?"

"No, Gilligan, it's simply a..." The Professor couldn't help breaking into an indulgent smile. "It's just a form of classification. I assume you wish to know what kind of monkey he is?"

"Yeah, Professor! So I can know what to feed him and stuff like that."

The Professor leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand as he regarded the little creature. "Well, I'd say he's a Barbary Ape, indigenous to North Africa – which means he isn't a true ape at all, but a monkey. His diet consists of fruit, seeds and roots. Don't worry, Gilligan. You'll have plenty to feed him here on the island."

Gilligan smiled down at his new little friend. "Hey, did you hear that, little fella? Even if you don't have a kingdom, you're sure gonna eat like a king!"

"By the way, Gilligan," the Professor added dryly, "did you ever find my tracking device that he ran off with?"

Gilligan shook his head, embarrassed. "Oh, not yet, Professor. He moves pretty fast for a little guy. By the time I'd caught up to him he'd pitched it somewhere in the jungle. Don't worry, though, Professor. I'll keep looking. It's bound to turn up someday."

The Skipper, who had been peering out the door, suddenly tapped Gilligan on the shoulder. "Come on, little buddy. We've wasted enough of the Professor's time."

"What do you mean? I thought you said we had to—"

"Never mind what I told you. Come on. Let's get going!"

The Professor called to them as they reached the door. "Ahem. Gilligan, I think you've forgotten something!"

The two sailors turned back to see that the little monkey had swarmed up onto the Professor's work table. The simian was chattering happily as it crept among the unlit Bunsen burners and curling pipettes, poking curiously at everything in its path.

"Sorry, Professor. I'll get him." Gilligan stepped forward, arms outstretched. "Little fella! Cut it out! What do you think this is, a toy store?"

He reached for the monkey, who had just picked up a hollow coconut shell and was juggling it back and forth.

"Oh, my gosh! Get it away from him, Gilligan!" cried the Skipper. "That's one of the Professor's landmines!"

Gilligan gasped and lunged for the coconut, but the monkey beat him by a fraction of a second, launching the shell across the hut.

"Hit the dirt!" yelled the Skipper, shoving Gilligan flat to the floor beneath him.

The Professor and Ginger, meanwhile, simply watched as the empty shell bounced off a bamboo support pole and clattered to the ground. The monkey clapped and hooted merrily.

"All clear, Skipper," said the Professor. "My formula wasn't explosive after all. At any rate, I've decided it's far too dangerous to have explosives sitting around!"

The Skipper and Gilligan peered up from the floor. "He said all clear, Skipper," gasped Gilligan from underneath the Skipper, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

The Skipper clambered off of him, leaving his flattened first mate gulping in great draughts of air. "Gilligan, you've got to teach that monkey to stop stealing things and throwing them! Somebody could get hurt someday!"

"Somebody already has," groaned Gilligan, still on the floor.

"Oh, don't worry, Skipper," Ginger chuckled. "I mean, it's not as though a crate of explosives is going to wash ashore someday, is it?"

"I sure hope not." The Skipper bent down and hauled Gilligan to his feet. "Come on, Gilligan. Get your crew aboard there. On the double!"

Gilligan nodded, still a little unsteady. "Sorry about that, Professor. Come on, little guy! You've caused enough trouble for one day!"

At his gentle tone the little monkey looked up and grinned. With a bound, it leapt into Gilligan's outstretched arm and threw its own skinny arms around Gilligan's neck.

The Skipper piloted him out the door. "Shove off, Gilligan!"

Gilligan's voice floated back as they both disappeared. "What, Mary Ann? Was that the signal?"

"Gilligan! Shhh!"

"Oops! Sorry, Skipper!"

The Professor looked up at Ginger. "Ginger, I'm afraid our friends don't all share your acting talents."

Ginger blinked her long black lashes. "Why, Professor! I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes you do. You're up to something." He stood up at last, grinning, his arms akimbo. "Are you trying to make a monkey out of me?"

She laughed. "Oh, Professor! I think you're already cute enough. Come on." She glided past him to the door. "Do you mind? Ladies first, you know."

He bowed and waved her on. "Of course. After you, madame." Ginger hurried ahead a bit so that she could see his reaction.

The yell was right on cue.

"SURPRISE!"

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the Professor in genuine astonishment.

The castaways were ranged around a sumptuously laden table, so piled with food that it seemed the bamboo frame would crack beneath the weight. Towers of fruit, platters of fish drizzled with savoury sauce, and - best of all - heaping baskets of freshly baked rolls sat in state amid seven elaborate place settings. And the splendour did not end with the table. The eaves of all the huts were festooned with ropes of flowers, while in the centre of the camp hung a great banner that read, "Welcome Back, Professor!"

The Professor shook his head. "This is fantastic! I have to admit I suspected you were all planning something, but I never expected anything so elaborate! I can't believe it!"

"Believe it, Professor," said Gilligan, the little monkey still cradled in his arm. "We're just so happy to have you back!"

The girls led the scientist to the place at the head of the table as the others took their places. "We made all your favourites," said Mary Ann. "And no more experiments tonight, Professor! This is one meal you're going to eat!"

The Professor grasped the back of his chair as if to steady himself. "But I don't understand! I don't deserve this! Look at the things I did!"

"Oh, knock it off, Professor. We know you didn't mean them," said the Skipper.

"Don't give it another thought, old man," said Mr. Howell. "You should have seen the boys and I after a particularly jolly night at the Harvard Club. Will I ever forget the night I made off with a fireman's helmet? Oh! What daring I had in those days!"

"Aw, Mr. Howell. That doesn't sound so daring," said Gilligan.

Mr. Howell grinned. "My boy, the fireman was still in it!"

"Professor, nobody blames you," said Ginger gently. "Like Gilligan said, we're so glad you're back with us!"

The Professor shook his head, still unable to believe the bounty before him. "Well...to coin a phrase, you people sure are nice to give me a party just to show you don't mind if I goof!"

Gilligan grinned. "Like the time you looked up the wrong bug in your book and told everybody I was a goner? Gee, Professor, that was the best goof you ever made! That was a swell party!"

The Professor smiled briefly, then grew serious. He looked down for a moment, searching for words. "I can't begin to thank you all for what you did for me. Especially you, Gilligan, and you, Skipper. When I think of the two of you going back to that mountain, despite the way you felt about the place! And after I'd behaved so selfishly!"

"That's okay, Professor. But I sure hope we're not heading up there again soon," said Gilligan with a shiver. "I know you wanted to find out what happened to those people, but-"

"I did, Gilligan. I made the discovery just before Dr. Balinkoff assaulted me."

The castaways sat up, intrigued. Mrs. Howell clasped her hands together. "Oh, do tell, Professor. I love a mystery! I suspect it had something to do with their awful table manners. When the other savages saw how they behaved, this tribe was probably so ashamed they simply couldn't show their faces in savage society again!"

"Well, in a way you're correct, Mrs. Howell," said the Professor. "That was why they lived on the mountain. There were other natives around, but they drove this hated tribe to the most inhospitable spot on the island."

"Well, I can see why they eventually left the island altogether," said Mary Ann. "But Gilligan said you found out they took nothing with them. Why would they leave all their tools and things behind?"

Gilligan held on to the little monkey like a teddy bear. "Please don't tell me the ghosts got them, Professor!"

The Professor shook his head. "No, Gilligan. Their own cruelty destroyed them. I cracked the code of their hieroglyphic writing, and found the last account they ever wrote. This account claimed that on the following day, the tribe was going to hold their largest mass-sacrifice yet, with every member of the village there to watch. It was to take place on a promontory that projects out over the sea, where they were going to push the intended victims over to their deaths. This is a copy I made of what they drew in anticipation of the event." The Professor pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and showed them the crude but all too evocative image.

The castaways all shuddered. To their surprise, however, Gilligan leaned forward, staring at the picture. "Wait a minute, Professor. That picture's all wrong. I recognize the view from that spot, but that's not what that spot looks like. That's where I nearly went over when I first saw Igor. There's no promontory there – the cliff just drops right off!"

"Gilligan's right," said the Skipper. "That is the same spot; I'd swear to it! That promontory's just not there anymore. Not surprising, mind you. There are cliffs all over Hawaii that look like that – like somebody just took a big axe and chopped a piece off. It's all because of the..." and the Skipper paused, his blue eyes wide. "...the landslides," he finished softly.

The Professor nodded. "Caused by excessive rainfall and erosion. They only happen about once every 100,000 years. But on that day, the day of the great sacrifice, when everyone in the village was standing right on the edge, above the sea, the ground just couldn't take the weight. And..."

"Oh, my gosh. All of them?" whispered Gilligan. "All at once?"

"Yes, Gilligan," said the Professor. "And so perished the lost tribe of the Whispering Mountain."

A horrified hush fell over the castaways. "But why did they do it, Professor?" asked Ginger at last. "Why all the sacrifices? I've heard of people in the olden days doing it for the sake of the harvest, or to make the rain fall."

"The rain falls on that mountain all the time," said Mary Ann, twisting a tress of her long black hair. "There's fruit on the trees and fish in the sea. They didn't have to do anything, except be grateful for it."

"You're right, Mary Ann." said the Professor. "But you're right too, Ginger. They wanted control over all the elements. They wanted supreme knowledge and power. And to that end, they sacrificed friends and family to their cruel gods."

"But they had everything they wanted on this island!" said Mr. Howell. "Even a gold mine!"

The Professor nodded sadly. "Yes, they did. But they turned their back on their most precious resource: each other. It's a lesson they never learned: one I hope Boris Balinkoff learns eventually. I certainly know that I have."

The Skipper twirled his fingers in embarrassment. "Oh, knock it off, Professor! Like we said before: we know all this wasn't your fault!"

"But it was, Skipper, when I put my curiosity above my responsibility to all of you. When I was less than honest about my true intentions for wanting to explore the Whispering Mountain. When I made fun of your concern for me. That all happened before Balinkoff and his ray ever affected me."

The castaways sat listening as the Professor stood gripping the back of his chair. "And as for what happened afterwards...do you remember when we all ate those seeds that allowed us to read minds – or at least allowed us to read each other's superficial thoughts?"

His friends nodded silently.

The Professor took a deep breath and continued. "Suddenly all of our daily irritations and petty, split-second judgements that we keep so carefully hidden leapt up out of the darkness and took on a life all their own. They became far greater than what they truly were. I'm sure none of us wanted to be judged on those things we thought that day: because they do not reflect who we truly are."

His blue eyes looked imploringly at them all. "What you've all seen over the past twenty-four hours is the darker side of me, twisted and magnified a hundred times. The seeds of it were real, but they will never grow. I will never let them. In the end we are what we choose to be, and I choose to be one of you: the best men and women I have ever known." The Professor met each of their eyes in turn. "Thank you - for giving me back that choice."

Those six pairs of eyes looked back with great compassion. "Professor, we're the lucky ones," said Ginger softly.

The Skipper nodded in agreement. "None of us was too happy when we got shipwrecked on this island, but we got something out of it. We got to know you, Professor."

"And we're all the richer for it," said Mrs. Howell.

"Hear, hear," said Mr. Howell. "Even if the coconut weather detectors don't make a million after all."

"You are one in a million, Professor," said Mary Ann.

"We couldn't imagine life on the island without you," said Gilligan. "Inventions or not. You're a real pal."

"I...I hardly know what to say," murmured the Professor, overwhelmed. "I think I'd better let the poet John Donne say it for me."

As the castaways sat in hushed expectation, the Professor recited softly,

"_No man is an island, entire of itself._

_Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main._

_If a clod be washed away by the sea, _

_Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, _

_as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were._

_Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind._

_And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls:_

_it tolls for thee."_

"Wow, that's sure pretty, Professor," said Gilligan. "Feel sorry for that guy Claude, though."

"Huh?" said the Skipper.

"The guy who got washed away by the sea. You'd think somebody'd have yelled 'man overboard' and tried to help him."

"Gilligan-" The Skipper sighed. "Stick to the comic books, little buddy."

"What it means, Gilligan, is that there's no room for selfishness on this island, or anywhere. We all depend on each other," explained the Professor. He looked at the monkey and smiled. "Even the little monkey's taught me that."

"Hey, you hear that?" said Gilligan to his new friend. "You're one up on the Professor himself!"

The monkey snatched at the fresh banana Gilligan offered him and gummed it happily.

"Hey, what is this, anyway? A court martial? This is supposed to be a celebration, remember?" said the Skipper. "The monkey's got the right idea. I'm famished. Let's eat!"

The castaways broke into laughter and began eagerly passing the platters. In the evening light the jungle's dark green swayed and rustled, while the far off mountains glowed dark gold beneath the fiery underbelly of the clouds. From the distant beach came the foamy rush of the surf, crashing in everlasting song.

The Professor looked at his friends. "Folks, I say that as soon as we finish dinner, we all head for Sunset Cove." He gave Ginger his fondest smile. "I think it's going to be a lovely evening for a stroll."

_Finis_


End file.
